


Solas the Circle Mage

by Shilyn18



Series: Rosa and Tal Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Book: Dragon Age - Asunder, Book: Dragon Age - The Masked Empire, Circle of Magi, Drama, F/M, Mages and Templars, Prequel, Romance, Smut, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 275,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shilyn18/pseuds/Shilyn18
Summary: Upon waking from uthenera, Solas is weak as a kitten. With no magic, he is defenseless as Templars take him & his orb to the Hasmal Circle in the Free Marches. There Solas becomes Revas: docile elven apprentice struggling to recover his magic and physical strength. And secretly plotting escape, of course. Aiding him are Dalish siblings Rosa & Tal, also forced into the tower by bad luck (read: brutish templars). But these siblings have secrets of their own. And they're far too interested in Solas' orb and his origins. They could become valuable agents to Fen'Harel's cause...or rivals threatening it. Of particular concern is Solas' growing attraction to Rosa, a fellow Dreamer. As the Circles rebel around Thedas, escape is nigh. Can Solas trust Rosa & Tal not to betray him? Prequel AU, takes place during Dragon Age: Asunder and Dragon Age: The Masked Empire





	1. My Name Is Revas

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published on fanfic. net under my pen name Shilyn. This story is complete there. I will update chapters until it is done here, too. 
> 
> This story takes place concurrently with two DA books: "The Masked Empire" and "Asunder" but if you haven't read them, that's fine. If you have, you will likely guess my original characters' biggest secret much faster. There's some hints at sexual abuse here, but nothing major on screen. This is kind of unavoidable in dealing with the mage/templar situation, but I didn't think it was enough to need the warning. That said, if you disagree, let me know and I will put the warning on. 
> 
> My notes from original post follow:
> 
> I had a thought a while ago (while reading Dragon Age Asunder) that the Solas of my other story (Pride Didn't Go Before The Fall) was incredibly lucky he was rescued upon waking by Dalish rather than Templars. I thought how entertaining it'd be if, with a twist of fate, our favorite apostate found himself trapped in a Circle and too weak to resist or escape outright. This tale grew from that.
> 
> So this Solas has the same backstory as Solas in my other story, but in this world Ellana Lavellan doesn't exist. Someone else does instead (the two Dalish mages, particularly Rosa of clan Naseral). 
> 
> I'll try to keep this as upbeat as possible, considering the subject matter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "…The Chant of Light says, 'Magic exists to serve mankind, and not to rule over him.' And so it has been. The mages have served well, in many wars over many centuries, yet in times of peace how well have we served them?" –Divine Justinia (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Solas is brought to the Hasmal Circle.

A low whistle cut through the air, jagged against Solas' sensitive ears. "Where'd you find this one?"

The glitter of metal swam in Solas' bleary eyes. He managed to hold his head upright and force open his eyelids long enough to get the impression of a bulky humanoid figure ahead of him. It was the man who'd woken him into this world of agony with his whistle. But the effort of lifting his head left his neck and eyes quivering with stabbing pain. He let himself sag between the two Templars hauling him forward, down a dark narrow hallway, dragging his legs over the hard stone.

"I know, right?" the Templar on Solas' left replied to the speaker. "We get all the weirdest charges."

"Did you find those other apostates? The knife-eared ones?" the whistling man asked, his voice nearer now that Solas' captors had halted. Solas could barely concentrate on their voices over the white-hot pain burning in his arms and shoulder sockets. The Templars had a firm hold on him and he was too weak to do anything but stay limp and hope they put him down soon. If he'd been just a little stronger he could have flexed his arms and supported some of his own weight—but he barely had the energy to continue breathing, let alone any other movement.

"No," the other Templar on Solas' right, a woman this time, answered. "We lost their track somewhere in the woods to the east. Blighted elves are as sneaky and dodgy as weasels out in the bush."

The whistler grunted. "Not this one, clearly."

"This bastard's barefaced. City elf. Poor sod was barely alive when we stumbled on him," said Left-Templar. He adjusted his grip on Solas, hiking him higher. The excruciating pain made Solas gasp.

"Should've just left him to rot," the whistler said with a cluck of his tongue.

"No, Ser Jeremy," Left-Templar said. "He's an interesting fella, too interesting to leave out to die. Had a strange magical artifact on him, clutching onto it for all he was worth. No stave on him, but my gut says he's got to be a mage."

"How you figure that?" the whistler asked.

Left-Templar explained, "No weapons. No calluses on his hands. And yet he's out deep in the woods in some kind of ancient giant spider-infested ruin. What else _could_ he be? Bugger's just too weak to even call magic now."

"Or speak," Right-Templar added. "I agree with Ser Bartholomew. No ordinary man handles something like the artifact we found with him. This rabbit isn't some peasant. He has magic...or _had_ it, anyway."

With another grunt and a pop of joints, the whistler spoke again, even closer than before. "What in the void is he wearing? Nightclothes?" Solas felt the whistling man's fingers plucking at his shoulder and struggled to roll his head to the opposite side and look at the man.

He saw again the glint of the whistler's metallic armor, dark and crude compared to the fine, thin metals of Elvhenan. The man's face swam into view: a black beard flecked with gray. His eyes were brown. A bulbous nose and thin lips spoke of an unkind nature. A brutish man then, propped up by the Andrastian faith as a pillar of righteousness and given the authority to lord over captive mages. A shemlen whose life had been shaped by fear and superstitions. A shadow and a mockery of a world long gone.

The world Solas had destroyed.

"What's your name, elf?" the whistler asked, tapping Solas' cheek.

How should he answer? He had so many names, accumulated while he was awake and while he slept. Roamer of the Beyond. The Bringer of Nightmares. Lord of Tricksters. The Old Wolf. The Great Wolf. The Lone Wolf. He Who Hunts Alone. The Dread Wolf. Fen'Harel. Pride. Solas.

But his lips lacked the strength and coordination to shape any of those names. Worse, his voice and mouth were dry as dust. Much longer in uthenera and his physical body would've dissolved into dust as well. At that moment he rather wished he'd never woken. Everything hurt.

He let his eyes drift shut. His head sagged forward again.

The whistler grunted yet again and his booted feet scuffed on the floor. When he next spoke his voice was farther away and above Solas now. "Put him in one of the cells and we'll see if he lives. I've got ten royals that says he'll wind up dying tonight."

"You're on," Left-Templar answered with a guffaw.

As they started dragging him again, the pain in Solas' arms reached a crescendo and he gasped once more—and welcomed the blackness that closed over his consciousness a heartbeat later.

____________________________________________________

Solas opened his eyes and found himself standing in the dappled light and shade of a verdant forest in midsummer. Pollen tickled his nose and he saw an apple tree nearby, its branches laden with fruit. His stomach clenched, an unusual sensation that made him frown. He had not felt hunger for a millennia. Uthenera left his body in a stasis so complete he no longer ate or drank but instead clung to magic from the Fade to sustain himself.

He knew this was a dream, but he had no recollection of shaping it. His mind felt foggy, his thoughts and memories dim and scattered. His willpower and his mana core seemed nonexistent, as if he were little more than a spirit or a sleeper with little or no conscious connection to the Fade. Like a…

His thoughts panned around, finding the faint memory of the emotionless, broken ex-mages he'd seen in the dreams of other mages over the ages. What were they called? They weren't weak mages, slaves, or servants, but something else that hadn't existed in Elvhenan.

Tranquil. That was what they were called. _Tranquil._ He felt as if he'd become one of them, sundered from magic, even if he could still touch the Fade.

Turning away from the apple tree, Solas saw grayish stone off to his far right. As he pivoted to face that direction properly, he gasped. It was a ruin. The walls had collapsed around the entrance and tree roots had interwoven through the gaps, widening the hole. The darkness beyond swelled in his eyes, filling him with a cold sensation and a dreadful fluttering inside his chest.

From inside he could hear ragged breathing and saw a pale shape worming its way forward through the darkness, crawling. Drawn forward almost against his will, Solas strode ahead, picking his way through the collapsed stones, vaguely realizing they were of Elvhen design, not one of the countless newer structures he'd seen favored in his dreams across Thedas. At the entrance of the collapsing ruins, he squinted into the dark, lips parted and hands trembling as he recognized the mosaic in gold and green tiles that'd been set into the walls—the Dread Wolf.

It was his uthenera chamber. It should have been deep belowground, hidden away, but somehow the earth had shifted, cracking long ago to expose the entrance.

He shook his head, a wave of vertigo making him sway. He remembered this place, this scene—but from a different vantage point. Lifting his eyes again to the distant, pale figure on the stone floor in the darkness, Solas felt queasy, knowing the man was himself. This was not someone else's dream or memory. It was his own.

He'd woken alone in his sealed chamber, the foci orb clutched to his chest. It'd woken him after millennia asleep, charging gradually from the stray magic in the air until it jolted him awake, ready for use. Pulled from the Beyond, Solas had woken skeletally thin, with wizened muscles and a body that'd been ready to expire. He should have had attendants—loyal servants who'd gone into stasis to sleep through the ages, wakening magically to fight if the tomb was attacked and to aid him in recovery—but half an hour of lying motionless on his bed with no sign of them had been enough to tell him something had gone wrong.

Without attendants to help him immediately after waking, Solas knew he had little chance of survival. He was just too weak to be able to find food and water without aid.

But his purpose kept him from giving up. He'd mustered up enough strength through sheer force of will to unseal the chambers and crawl out of his uthenera chamber, still clutching the orb. From what little he could discern while crawling on his belly through the ruins, it seemed grave robbers had entered it ages ago, slaughtering his attendants when they woke. He found bodies, little but dust and skeletons now, but there were two different sets of armor among them, a clear sign of intruders. His own chamber had been magically sealed, preventing the raiders from harming him.

He'd managed to crawl outside and into the sunlight, to the apple tree outside. Slowly, laboriously, he ate a few that'd ripened early and fallen from the tree. That little bit of sustenance had kept him alive until…

The sound of hooves pounding the earth echoed through the trees and made Solas whip around, staring through the forest. There was a game trail out there and chance had brought the pair of Templars along it and past the ruins of his uthenera chamber. The memories that followed were hazy in Solas' mind, but he recalled the glint of their armor in the sunlight, the taste of the water they'd given him, and the musty smell of their horses.

"Fenedhis," he cursed and reached outward with his senses and his right hand, willing this dream-memory away in disgust. The raw Fade appeared around him, wet with slimy, stagnant pools and misty with green ether. A pair of wisps darted around each other, circling and humming, like butterflies trying to catch one another in a mating dance. The sight would've made him smile at any other time, but now he watched without really seeing it as he considered his physical reality.

He'd been abducted by Templars, who'd most likely taken him to a Circle tower. He had zero chance of escaping in his current physical state. He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed to himself with frustration as he tried to remember everything he'd learned and seen in his dreams about Circles.

Then the skin at the back of his neck prickled. Solas recognized the sensation at once for what it was—the presence of a hostile spirit. Raising his head, Solas found himself staring at an elven woman with a long black mane of hair and golden eyes that made him think of honey. Her features were regal with high cheekbones and full lips in a heart shape.

"Fen'Harel," she greeted him with a warm smile. "How good it is to see you again, but how sad that you are trapped and suffering in the waking world. I can help you."

Solas scowled as he regarded the elven woman. "A poor likeness," he declared. "I almost did not recognize her. You should be embarrassed, _nuvenathe_. Doubly so, for you should know better than to try tempting those who you have no chance of deceiving."

"If my visage displeases you, you have only yourself to blame," the nuvenathe said in Mythal's deep, commanding voice. "It has been so long since you laid eyes upon her that your memory has withered and faded—just as your body and your magic have in the waking world."

Solas felt the sting of the hostile spirit's words and bristled, but he bit back the retort riding on his tongue, already seeing and sensing the mirth in the nuvenathe's eyes. Like all of its brethren, this creature relished toying with physical beings. Even in Elvhenan the nuvenathe had been renowned for their tendency to provoke and antagonize. Yet, of course, in those days their goals hadn't been as hostile as in the post-Veil Thedas. Pre-Veil the nuvenathe, like most spirits, tempted physical beings in order to understand them and further embody their representative emotion or ideal—desire, in this case. Post-Veil they sought to possess physical beings to reach the waking world again.

With a flick of his hand, Solas summoned rock from the Fade ether swirling around them and launched it casually at the nuvenathe. "Be gone," he commanded.

The stone blasted through "Mythal," making her shape blur and dissolve into an amorphous, red-black mist as the nuvenathe dematerialized for a heartbeat. When it returned, again bearing Mythal's appearance, it cackled in a distorted voice. "You will regret turning away my offer, Fen'Harel. Without my help you will shrivel and die. The Templars care nothing for their mage charges. They will use your foci as a paperweight and laugh as they bury your body."

Irritated, Solas launched another stone at it. "Did you not understand my meaning earlier?" he griped. "Away with you!"

The nuvenathe cackled again as it backed away, fading again into red-black mist before flickering as it vanished completely. Alone now in the raw Fade, Solas noticed the wisps still chasing each other and smiled slightly to himself. "Well, it would seem I have passed my Harrowing." He laughed to himself, bitter and dry. "It is a shame my Templar captors were not observing this."

Harrowing. Solas sneered to himself and hoped the nuvenathe wouldn't be correct after all about the Templars killing him while he was still weak.

_______________________________________________

A stinging sensation in his neck made Solas gasp. His eyes sprang open and found near-darkness except for the dull circle of light on the opposite wall from a torch. A figure had crouched down beside him, its hands at his neck. Solas flinched and tried to pull away, but his body screamed with pain and shook, protesting the attempt. He tried to speak but found his lips and tongue were dry and clumsy.

"Apologies," the person crouched beside him said, her voice monotone. "I will provide you with food and water when I have finished drawing blood for the phylactery."

_Phylactery_. Something like panic fluttered in the back of his mind and he groaned, a string of curses running through his head. The Templars would use a few drops of his blood in a vial to track him, the way they did with all their mage captives.

The tinkling of glass instruments rang in his ears and a moment later Solas winced as the vial glowed a deep, brilliant crimson. The Templars and Chantry forbade blood magic and abhorred spirits and the Fade, but the phylacteries were allowed because they were convenient. _Hypocrites._

"I require a name for our records, ser," the woman said in the same monotone.

Solas' stomach clenched and his skin seemed to crawl as he realized this woman was Tranquil. A mage the Templars had mutilated, severing her connection to the Fade and rendering her emotionless and magic-less.

"Your name, ser?" the Tranquil repeated.

Solas remained silent and motionless, though his mind was spinning as he wondered how he would overcome this new obstacle to his eventual freedom. He'd followed Circle mages who'd fled from their towers before via dreams and had seen the way the Templars employed the phylacteries. It was crude tracking, at best, but the idea of these cretins having a phylactery with his blood inside rankled him. Even if they had no chance of finding him with it, Solas would know it existed somewhere—like invisible chains around his hands and feet.

He would _not_ be a captive.

Yet, at present, he had no choice.

Metallic scraping from somewhere outside his cell alerted Solas to the fact that the Tranquil wasn't alone. A Templar stood outside the bars to his cell, arms crossed and his face twisted in a scowl. "Hold off for now on the name, Lyn. I'm not sure he can talk right now. Give him something to eat and drink first."

"Yes," the Tranquil, Lyn, replied. "That is logical." With a rustle and shuffle of her feet, Lyn rose from her crouched position and left his cell for a moment. Her footsteps were slow and quiet, careful but steady. Only a few heartbeats later and she was back, propping him up into a sitting position by leaning him against the cold stone wall behind him. She pressed a flask of water to his lips. Though Solas knew it would make defiance more difficult once they knew his throat was suitably wetted, he drank greedily. When his stomach cramped at the liquid he rolled his head away, gasping for air.

"Don't drown him," the Templar said with a chuckle. "I want that ten royals. This bastard has got to live."

"Yes, Ser Bartholomew," Lyn replied in her monotone. Next a cold spoon with gruel on it pushed past his lips. Solas scowled at the taste—what kind of barbarians considered this acceptable sustenance? The least they could do was infuse it with an enchantment to give him a buzz of pleasure or contentment or—

He grunted, the closest he could come to chuckling in his current state of weakness. _Fool,_ he scolded himself. Enchanting food was something these shemlen couldn't do. He'd forgotten. It was so common in Elvhenan that virtually all meals were enchanted.

"Don't go too fast," Bartholomew warned.

"Yes, ser," the Tranquil answered as she pushed another spoonful into Solas' mouth. Despite the blandness of the taste he swallowed it without a fight. He could almost feel his body coming alive at the influx of new energy.

_Bide your time,_ he counseled himself. _Play along. Be docile and unassuming._ Eventually he would recover enough physically that he could escape. It might take months, but he would do it. He had to do it to unmake this world and destroy the Veil. To set right the mistakes of his past and save the People.

He'd need the foci to do it, of course. He peeked at the man standing outside his cell quickly out of the corner of his eye and then away again when he saw the man's fixed stare on him. The Templars must have his foci. What would they do with it? Would they have any inkling as to its full potential and danger?

_Of course not_ , he thought and almost let out another little grunting laugh at his own foolishness. Asking whether the Templars understood something as ancient and complex as the foci was like wondering if halla could read or if dwarves could dream and cast magic. These were shadow people, after all. They and their world were a mistake. They weren't real.

When Lyn had spooned the last of the bland gruel into his mouth and Solas had swallowed it down, the Templar cleared his throat and spoke directly to him for the first time. "What's your name, mage?"

For a moment Solas weighed his previous stubbornness, considering defying Bartholomew's request. It'd be satisfying to thwart their work with the phylactery, but the truth was Solas couldn't stop it. They already had the blood in the vial and he was far too weak to escape now or any time soon. His best option was to be compliant and to pretend this Circle really would be his prison for the remainder of his short, shem life.

He started to speak, his voice croaking, _"My name…_ " but he cut himself off, wincing as he realized he was speaking in elven.

"Come again?" the Templar asked, sounding more amused than irritated for now.

Solas had learned the human's common speech ages ago, pre-Veil. He'd picked it up in the wilderness at first after encountering a few traders. In those days he'd learned it as an idle curiosity, a tool he could employ on the off chance he'd need it. Oh, and of course, it came in handy for impressing others at court. Arlathan had always delighted in the rare and exotic, and the shemlen tongue had even greater allure for its savageness. It'd only been in the Fade, post-Veil, that he'd learned it properly. But he'd barely had occasion to speak it aloud before. Until now.

Concentrating with a frown, Solas repeated himself, forcing his lips and mouth to form the unfamiliar sounds of the human's common tongue. "My name is…" He screwed up his face as he made up his mind to lie to them. "Revas."

It would do nothing to stop the phylactery's effectiveness, but this small rebellion would remind him what was most important.

Bartholomew hummed his acknowledgement, then spoke to Lyn. "Did you get that?"

"Yes, ser," the Tranquil answered. Solas heard the scratch of a quill on parchment as Lyn wrote down the runic symbols for the name he'd used.

"So, Revas," Bartholomew said, pronouncing Solas' alias name with care and precision. "Tell me about yourself."

Solas breathed slowly, letting his eyes drift shut to feign more exhaustion than he truly felt even as his mind spun in circles, trying to plan out an explanation these shemlen would believe. Deciding it'd be best for them to dig rather than for him to supply information, Solas asked, "What do you…wish to know?" He had to swallow several times to wet his throat again and still the words came out hoarse and strangled.

"You're an apostate?" he asked.

Solas knew he was far older than most of their initiates and apprentices in this Circle or any Circle would be. Hiding magical talent was difficult or impossible, typically, though in this world of near Tranquility it might prove easier than he'd expect. Yet it was natural then for the Templars to label him as an apostate and assume he'd spent his life evading them. Unfortunately that'd make them warier of him in the long run. They'd expect him to cause trouble.

For the first time ever in his long life, Solas wished he wore vallaslin. If these Templars thought him Dalish they'd envision a very different past for him as a simple wanderer and "savage." They wouldn't see an elven man who'd lived out his entire life as a fugitive trying to avoid the Circles. His thoughts flew as fast as his magic would have had he possessed his full strength. Perhaps he could concoct an intermediate tale for himself…?

He began struggling to speak again, but his voice was hoarse and croaking. Bartholomew motioned at Lyn. "Poor bastard's parched. Give him more to drink."

She obeyed, pushing the flask to his lips. The metal was cold, the water held a faint tang of minerals that made it delicious. After a few swallows Lyn pulled the flask away but Solas leaned forward to follow it with his mouth. Bartholomew laughed good-naturedly. "Like a babe chasing the tit," he observed. "Looks like I'll get my ten royals after all."

Feeling his cheeks flush with heat, Solas turned his head away from the flask, though he remained thirsty. Breathing heavily, he let himself sag as if exhausted. He _was_ exhausted, so it wasn't difficult to let the Tranquil and the Templar see as much. With the food now in his stomach his body felt leaden after so long without a substantial meal. The extra work it needed to do to merely function left him trembling and sweaty. With the Veil in place his body was no better than any of these shemlen. He couldn't draw strength from the Fade and he could feel the cold, ruthless grip of mortality at his throat.

Bartholomew tapped on the bars. "Okay, Lyn. I think he's had enough for now." As the Tranquil rose to her feet, taking the flask and the tray with the bowl of gruel away with her, Solas let his eyes open slightly as he peered up at Bartholomew. The Templar was staring at him, his expression one of bald curiosity. He jabbed a finger at Solas when he met the elf's eye. "Keep kicking, Revas. I expect some answers out of you soon."

The Templar's armored boots clapped away down the hallway with the gentler shuffle of the Tranquil's step behind him. Solas sighed and closed his eyes, eager to slip back into the Fade for the comfort and power it'd give him. At least in his dreams Solas could walk and talk and shape the world with his will. He could still call on magic in the Fade.

Solas probed at that empty, desolate place inside him where his mana core usually waited, as immense and fathomless as an ocean. It was dull and cold now, utterly lifeless. He shied away from it, wincing and swallowing the sudden ache in his throat. How could he have woken so utterly weak and pathetic? He'd been one of the elite, an Evanuris. The most powerful type of mage in Elvhenan. He'd stood shoulder to shoulder with Mythal and Elgar'nan—that insufferable ass—and cracked open the earth in the civil war against Falon'din's forces.

How had it come to this?

Echoing through the hall outside his cell then, Solas heard the metallic screech of a door opening. He blinked, frowning to himself as he wondered if he was to be fed and interrogated by a different Templar now. Yet a moment later he heard a woman's voice rise over the clatter-clank of armored Templar footsteps and the shuffle of what sounded like bare feet over the stone. His exhaustion-addled mind took a few heartbeats to realize the woman was speaking in elven, but as recognition dawned he struggled to sit upright further and turn more toward his cell door.

" _Fucking_ shemlen," the woman cursed vehemently. " _Let go of me! Void take you!_ "

The Templars passed his cell and Solas caught a quick view of their captive. She was elven, as he'd known she'd be, with olive skin and brown hair that'd once been neatly tied up in intricate braids and knots but now had come undone in wisps. She wore armor he recognized as Dalish and in the split second he managed to see her face Solas noticed three things—she wore Dirthamen's vallaslin, she was quite attractive, and she was…oddly familiar.

But what was a Dalish mage doing here?

Tromping immediately behind the struggling, swearing Dalish woman were another two Templars hauling an elven man between them—but unlike his female counterpart this man was unconscious. Solas caught only the impression of his armor and the messy tangle of black hair.

Solas heard two cell doors opening on their rusty, loud hinges. The Dalish woman shrieked louder, slipping out of elven. "Tal! Creators dammit—wake up!"

"In you go, bitch," one of the Templars snarled. Solas heard the distinct sound of a body hitting the floor and then the slap of flesh on flesh. "That's for biting me," the Templar added. "Savage."

The woman spit. "What did you do to Tal?" she demanded.

The cell door swung shut with a groan. The Templars didn't answer her as they clomped away. One of them slapped his gauntleted hand on Solas' cell bars as he walked by, making him flinch and gasp. Solas caught the flash of the Templar's malicious, squinty-eyed gaze through the slot on his helmet as the man stalked away down the hall. Solas frowned after the man but said nothing—not that his throat would allow him to say much anyway.

_What are Dalish mages doing here?_ He wondered again, his curiosity piqued.

From down the hall he heard ragged breathing and the thump of the cell bars and imagined the Dalish woman must be testing their strength. A little noise cut through the air like a whimper when the hinges finished whining and apparently didn't give way. Then a voice called out softly in elven, _"Tal? Little brother, are you there?"_

No answer came from the other man—Tal, or so Solas assumed. He opened his mouth to reply, to make contact, but then shut it again. He was supposed to be the docile prisoner. The Templars were probably watching somewhere down the hallway and would overhear any exchanges. They might frown upon socialization between prisoners. It was better to stay quiet and give them nothing.

"Mythal protect us," the woman murmured quietly and launched into whispered prayer.

Biting back the desire to scoff at her invocation to Mythal, Solas thought: _Mythal could not even protect herself in the end._ But of course, that'd been _his_ fault too, to be honest.

Tired of thinking, Solas closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

__________________________________________

**Nuven'athe:** desire/wish with suffix for "embodiment of". Credit to FenxShiral's Project Elvhen. I think the term for desire demon was something else, using the term for sexual desire. I rejected this in favor of desire in a broader, nonsexual sense because the demon in this chapter tempts Solas with a nonsexual desire. Plus we see "desire" demons such as Imshael offer nonsexual temptations, so "nuven" was better suited.

**Next Chapter:**

The woman laid a hand over her chest and introduced herself while still wearing the same coy smile. "I am Rosa of clan Naseral." When he made no reply and didn't speak, Rosa chuckled. "What's the matter, flat-ear? Did the Dread Wolf take your tongue?"


	2. Rosa and Tal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But freedom is not given. It is won."—Briala (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas has an unexpected meeting in the Fade.

The green-black water around Solas' feet sloshed. It was bitingly cold despite the oily bubbles bursting through its surface and emitting swirls of greenish Fade ether. Solas scowled down at it and sighed his frustration as he reached outward with his will, searching for that _snap_ inside that meant he'd connected with the Fade.

Nothing came.

The Fade should have been a place of comfort and security for Solas, now more than ever. The Veil made it impossible for any but the strongest mages to consciously access it while they slept, and most of them were hobbled in their explorations by Andrastian superstition. They feared spirits—hostile, friendly, or neutral alike—and avoided interaction with them as a result. They lacked the ability or the interest to shape the raw Fade or touch the minds of other sleepers.

All of it combined should have made Solas' talents, which had been impressive even to other Elvhen in the court of Arlathan—singular in modern Thedas. It also made the Fade a somewhat lonely place, filled with the shadowy forms of sleepers and their half-formed dreams. Solas preferred the quiet Fade of Thedas post-Veil, though he hated admitting as much to himself. He'd always been comfortable alone or in the company of spirits over people because spirits so rarely surprised him.

Spirits did not betray one another. Most of them didn't even lie. _Couldn't_ even lie. People, on the other hand…

Gritting his teeth at the chill of the water, Solas reached out again. This time he actually extended his hand, willing the water to flash over to a pleasant warm temperature instead. The connection never snapped inside his mind and his mana core was as chilled as the water around his ankles. After a few seconds he let his hand drop back to his side with a _whisk_ of his flesh against the silken robes he wore.

For days now he'd been having this same futile struggle in what should have been his demesne. When he'd first been imprisoned in the Circle he'd still been able to reshape the Fade, the same as he had in uthenera. But after the first day he'd found himself stripped of even that talent. It was…unbearably humiliating. And frustrating.

While in uthenera he'd roamed the Fade freely, slipping in and out of whatever dream he liked, whether it was a sleeper's creation or the recreation of wisps reacting to memories from the waking world. He'd possessed total control over it all and used it to learn and observe Thedas through the ages.

But now he couldn't shape the Fade even in this littlest of ways.

This wasn't supposed to happen after uthenera and it certainly wasn't supposed to happen to someone as powerful as _him_. Was the Veil at fault? The phylactery blood magic, perhaps? Would Solas truly be no better than one of the Tranquil in this post-Veil world?

_What have I done to myself?_ He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. _What have I done to the world?_

And then screams tore through the air, sharp as knives stabbing into his ears.

Solas jerked awake, blinking into the darkness of his cold cell. His bare feet and legs were sticking out of the thin, coarse blanket the Templars had given him to huddle under. That explained the chill of the puddles in the raw Fade, but what about the—

More screaming came, echoing through the hallway. Solas sat up, clenching his jaw against the stiffness and pain in his muscles as they protested the motion. Through the bars on his cell door he saw a shadow on the far wall and recognized the shape of it as belonging to a Templar. A moment later he heard a ringing noise and felt a wave of…something unpleasant wash over him. His skin prickled and he shuddered.

The anguished scream came again, weaker this time, and an unfamiliar male voice shouted, "Submit, knife-ear bitch."

The only response was the sound of heavy, pained breathing.

The shadow on the wall shifted and Solas heard the slight clank of armor. "Do it again, Ser Curtis," Bartholomew's voice said. He chuckled. "I'd rather not have her singe you to a crisp."

" _Submit, Rosa,"_ a youthful sounding male voice said in elven. _"Please…"_

"I submit," the woman said, her voice strangled with barely contained rage. There was a scuffing noise and then another sharp, loud burst of ringing. The same unpleasant prickling washed over Solas, making him wince. He heard the elven man biting out curses in a breathy voice and the woman whimpering weakly.

Bartholomew grunted. "She submitted. That was unnecessary." The mild tone of disapproval in his voice was unmistakable.

Curtis scoffed. "As if I'd trust a filthy knife-ear's word. She had it coming."

"That may be so, but I'd rather not sour relations with our charges. Wouldn't you agree?"

"A troublemaker like this should just wind up Tranquil straightaway," Curtis retorted.

"That isn't for us to decide," Bartholomew said and his shadow on the wall waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, you know how Knight-Commander Kali is."

"Yeah, yeah," Curtis grumbled. "Lyn, get over here while she's still out of it."

"Yes, ser," the Tranquil replied in monotone as her footsteps shuffled over the stone floor. A few moments later Solas heard the elven woman whimper again and then came the sound of tinkling glassware. "I require a name for the phylactery," Lyn said.

"Your name, knife-ear," Curtis demanded, growling. Solas heard the loud pop of the Templar's joints and guessed he knelt to be closer to the elven woman. She groaned and clothing rustled. Something metallic clattered on the stone. "Did you hear me?"

"Fen'Harel take you, shemlen," she snarled and then Solas heard the wet noise of her spitting at him.

"Filthy flea-bitten savage," Curtis growled with disgust and then came the sharp sound of a slap. The elven woman's breath hitched in her throat but she otherwise didn't cry out.

Bartholomew chuckled. "Maybe you're right about this one, Curt. The First Enchanter isn't going to want to deal with this bitch."

"Hear that?" Curtis asked and another slap echoed off the walls. "It'll be the Rite for you, for sure." Another slap and the woman did cry out now.

Solas watched the shadow on the wall, his hands curling into fists. If only he had his full strength, he could blow away the door to his cell and Fade step down the hall to petrify both Templars. He opened his mouth to call out, but stopped himself as he registered again the shadow on the wall.

_This isn't real._ These were shemlen and shem-elves, mere shadows of Elvhenan. The elven woman was not Elvhen, not one of _his_ people. He owed her nothing. Though that realization made him snap his mouth shut, it did nothing to ease the lance of guilt and shame that cut through him as Curtis again slapped the poor woman.

Finally the elven man raised his voice, shouting, "Please, I'm begging you—leave her alone."

"Tell us her name, boy, and I'll order Ser Curtis to stop," Bartholomew said in a coaxing tone.

"Her name is Rosa," the elf answered, a note of desperation in his voice.

"All right," Bartholomew said. "Ser Curtis, stop if you would. I believe our dear Rosa has had enough."

Curtis grunted and metal armor scraped over the stone. The elven woman, Rosa, groaned with pain as Curtis' footsteps clomped over the floor and toward the exit of the cell. "Did you get that name, Lyn?" he asked as his shadow joined Bartholomew's on the wall adjacent to Solas' cell door.

"I did, ser. If you would excuse me, I must take the phylacteries to the First Enchanter." The soft scuff of the Tranquil's feet moving over the floor came next as she began walking down the hall. She breezed past Solas' cell, eyes facing forward and a small wooden box clutched between her hands.

The hinges whined as one of the Templars, likely Curtis, closed the cell door. Their shadows remained on the wall for Solas to see as they hesitated outside of it. After a moment of tense silence Bartholomew asked, "So, tell me, how did the two of you meet?" Bartholomew's shadow on the wall shifted beside Curtis. "Are you cousins? Siblings?"

"No," the elven man replied quickly.

Eavesdropping from his cell, Solas cocked his head, biting the inside of his cheek. He was lying, which meant he understood that if the Templars uncovered a familial relationship between the two Dalish they'd separate them, likely sending one to another tower. Solas recalled the woman, Rosa, shouting to the man—what had she called him? Tal? Regardless, she'd addressed him as _brother_ in elven. It was possible she'd call him brother simply because they were from the same clan, but Solas doubted it. The desperation and worry in Rosa's voice, and in Tal's when Curtis had been beating her, suggested strong kinship.

"I'm not sure I believe you, boy," Bartholomew grumbled, low and threatening.

"It's true," Tal insisted, his voice firm. "We are not even of the same clans. Rosa was First to clan Naseral and I am of clan Ghillath. We met on the road."

"And what took you from your clan, boy?" Bartholomew asked, giving no verbal indication whether he believed Tal's story or not.

"We are seeking another clan. Our clans had too many mages, so we struck out in search of one that could take us in as First or Second."

"But didn't you just tell me you met her on the road?" Bartholomew asked, clearly skeptical.

"I did meet Rosa on the road," Tal replied coolly. His confidence under the interrogation made Solas smile. "We _do_ come from different clans, after all. It was chance and by the grace of Mythal that we—"

"None of your heathen nonsense," Curtis interrupted with a snarl.

"Apologies," Tal said, unruffled by the Templar's interruption. "I merely hoped to convey how fortunate and unlikely our meeting was. It made no sense to journey alone so we joined together for protection."

"And attacked a village," Bartholomew said, growling.

"Attacked…?" Tal sounded genuinely confused, but after a moment he said, "Ah! You must mean the blacksmith who tried to cheat us and then chased us out of town when we refused to do business with him."

"Filthy lying savage," Curtis snapped. "We know the truth. There's no use in lying. You and that knife-ear bitch attacked that blacksmith and his neighbors with fire!"

"Ser Curtis," Bartholomew scolded. "Please allow him to tell his story uninterrupted. You know as well as I that the peasants can react poorly to mages of any kind." After a pause, during which Curtis grumbled under his breath, Bartholomew said, "Please go on. I'd like to know what you had to trade with the blacksmith."

Bartholomew's tone, though mild and gentle, was laden with skepticism. He clearly didn't think two wandering Dalish elves—apostates in his mind—would have anything worthwhile to trade. He hoped to find holes in Tal's story and uncover the truth that way, rather than through confrontation. It was a clever tactic and likely to work. Solas hoped Tal had the good sense to _not_ be lying grandiosely. The best lies were always those containing a sizable dose of the truth.

It was a lesson Solas himself knew he'd need to remember when the Templars eventually turned their attention to him again.

"Ironbark of course," the young man replied without missing a beat. He even sounded enthusiastic as he launched into a description. "It's bluish in color, lighter and stronger than steel. It comes from the Brecilian forest, where Rosa's clan hails from and—"

"And where is this ironbark of yours now?" Bartholomew interrupted.

There was a pause from Tal before he said, "We hid it when we realized we were being hunted." He chuckled good-naturedly. "If you're looking to find it for yourself, I'm afraid you'd have to let Rosa and myself free to show you. I can assure you, you'll never find it just tromping through the woods and—"

"Enough," Bartholomew snapped. His shadow on the wall waved a hand dismissively. "Do you take me for a fool, boy? You're both apostates. I'm not about to let you out. The Circle is your home now." He let out a harsh laugh as his shadow gestured broadly to encompass the tower. "You'd better get used to it."

"We are _not_ apostates," Tal shot back, sounding insulted. "We are _Dalish._ You have no right to hold us here!"

A metallic bang and clatter echoed through the hall. Solas flinched at the unexpected loudness and he heard Tal cry out with surprise as well. The shadows on the wall had moved, with Curtis striking the bars of Tal's cell.

"Your rights ended the moment you attacked that village," he snarled. His feet thumped over the stone as he turned and walked down the hallway, finally coming into view of Solas' cell door. He glowered through the bars at Solas, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for Bartholomew to join him. When the other Templar joined him, Solas feigned a small smile, hoping he would not incur a beating from Curtis, who seemed to be a Chantry-sanctioned brute.

"So, Revas," Bartholomew said, his tone easygoing and friendly. "Feeling up to talking today?"

Smiling, Solas cleared his throat and managed to speak, though his voice was hoarse and croaking. "What do you wish to know?"

"Ah," Bartholomew said with a broader smile. "Much better today!" He clapped his gauntleted hands together with a loud slap of leather on leather. "Ser Jeremy is going to owe me ten royals for sure."

"You bet on this one living?" Curtis asked with a sneer and a shake of his head. "Maker, you're hopeless, Ser Bartholomew."

Still chuckling, Bartholomew turned his attention back to Solas and said, "Tell me, Revas—where did you come from?"

"I was born in a small village north of here," Solas answered, pausing to frown when his voice cracked. That was true enough…minus the fact that he'd been born thousands of years ago in that village. "My father was Dalish," he lied and had to close his eyes as if exhausted to hide his revulsion at it. As if _he_ were nothing but one of these shadow-elves, short-lived and shortsighted and misguided. "When my talent manifested my father hoped to raise me with his clan…" He broke off to cough as his throat ached. He swallowed to wet it.

"But his clan would not take me. The Keeper refused to give vallaslin to one born outside the clan, such as myself." The humans appeared uninterested in this tale. Doubtless, they'd already decided he was lying or they'd heard in his words the couched confession of an apostate.

"You're old for the usual apostate we pick up," Bartholomew commented. "How is it you stayed hidden?" He scoffed then, crossing his arms over his chest to mirror Curtis' closed off body language. "Don't tell me you hopped between Dalish clans. You're barefaced. Don't try my patience."

"I did not," Solas murmured. "I stayed in the wilderness and I was very careful not to cause trouble. I prefer to be alone."

"Well, you're out of luck there," Bartholomew said with a slight chuckle. "As soon as you're strong enough to join the others First Enchanter Braden has decided you'll be joining the other apprentices. And that means it's to the dormitories for you." He paused then, shifting his weight from side to side and asked, "What in the name of Holy Andraste were you doing in that ruin?"

What was it the Dalish legends had said about the Dread Wolf after he'd imprisoned the Evanuris? Something about him sitting in a remote corner of Thedas laughing and hugging himself with glee? That sounded about right. It'd be more believable than the truth to this Templar. _What was I doing in that ruin? Sleeping. Dreaming for ages since I destroyed Elvhenan and letting you shemlen take over. You can thank me by fetching another blanket and bringing_ anything _better than gruel to eat._

Pushing those sardonic thoughts aside, he tried to answer. "I…" He swallowed yet again, not having to feign difficulty in order to buy a little stalling time. "I enjoy seeking out old ruins."

"A scavenger, are you?" Curtis asked in a growl.

"A scholar," Solas supplied instead with a frown.

"Uh-huh," Bartholomew said, his tone making it clear he didn't care to tease out the truth in that detail. "And what about the artifact we found you with?"

_This_ was what Solas had worried about most. He had to hide his connection to the foci and downplay its dangers while also somehow convincing these idiot Templars not to destroy it or experiment on it. If one of the Enchanters somehow managed to unlock it the consequences could prove fatal not just for Solas, but the whole tower. After considerable thought on the subject, Solas had decided his best course of action was to let the Templars come to the conclusion themselves that the foci was dangerous to mages and should be locked away. To do that he had to make them assume his withered condition was because he'd handled the foci. But _telling_ them that would make them inclined to doubt. He had to play this carefully…

"Artifact?" Solas repeated dumbly, staring at Bartholomew with feigned bemusement.

"We found you clutching an ancient artifact of some kind." Bartholomew raised both hands and mimed the shape of the foci. "It was about yay big, covered in grooves, and round." He raised both eyebrows. "That doesn't ring any bells for you?"

Solas knit his brow, going silent for a time as he pretended to search his memory. Then, slowly, he started to speak, "I…don't recall. I enjoy seeking out ancient secrets and trying to understand them. I'm certain I would have found something like that fascinating."

"Could the artifact have left him near death like this?" Bartholomew asked Curtis, shaking his head. "Do you think?"

Curtis scoffed. "Does the Divine pray to the Maker? Is the sky blue?" He shrugged. "Answer seems clear to me." Motioning at Solas, Curtis said, "Elf bastard blundered into ruins somewhere and played with something he shouldn't have. Bugger's lucky he isn't dead."

"But what manner of device could this artifact be?" Bartholomew asked, scratching at his scalp. His hair was cropped very short, but it appeared to be a bright red in color.

Curtis spread his hands, palms up, in a gestural equivalent of a shrug. "Honestly, Ser Bartholomew, I've heard of stranger things happening where magic is concerned. They say Blight is a type of magic, right?"

Bartholomew blanched, his expression pinching as if he'd tasted something bitter.

_Well,_ Solas thought, _that was pathetically easy._

Looking back to Solas, Bartholomew asked, "Do you remember how you came to be this weak?"

"No," Solas lied and grunted as he struggled to sit more upright. It took effort and made every muscle in his body scream with pain. He shuddered, shaky and sweating, breathing rough and fast. It'd be good to show them again just how ruined he was—all the more reason they should fear the foci and warn the Enchanters away from it.

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember?" Bartholomew challenged him.

"I remember entering the tomb," he replied, feigning an expression of intense concentration. "There were…murals. I examined them." He tried to remain upright, but his shoulders and back had begun trembling with weakness. Slouching, he let out a fast breath through his nose. "I'm sorry. Everything else is unclear."

Bartholomew sighed, rubbing at his mouth and jaw with one hand as he stared at Solas without really seeing him. Curtis had an almost contemplative expression on his face as he scrutinized Solas as well. Finally Bartholomew looked to Curtis and gestured to indicate the far end of the hallway. "Alert Knight-Commander Kali and the First Enchanter."

Curtis nodded and pivoted on his heel, stomping away with a clatter of his metallic armor. Solas winced at the sound, recalling the much lighter armor of Elvhenan with a pang of loss.

Bartholomew tapped a gauntleted hand against Solas' cell door bars, making him flinch with surprise. Bartholomew's eyes were solemn and dark as he gazed at Solas. "I'll send Lyn in with more food for you soon," he promised with a nod. "And you have my thanks for telling us what you could. If you remember anything of what happened to you…"

"I will tell you," Solas promised with a nod. The motion left him a tad dizzy, but his neck muscles were already beginning to strengthen. _Good._ At least his body showed _some_ sign of recovery.

"Yes," Bartholomew said with a frown. "You will." The deepness in his voice held the threat of violence, yet a second later he flashed a grimacing smile. "I hope you understand that to protect the other mages in this tower, I will be compelled to do anything and everything in my power to ascertain any danger you or that artifact may pose."

Solas withheld a snort. "With all due respect, Ser Bartholomew, _I_ am a threat to no one." He motioned at his withered body, still wearing the dusty, stained robes of uthenera. "I cannot even stand, presently."

Bartholomew's somberness cracked as he grinned. "To be honest I'm stunned any of you elves manage to stand or run with how skinny you lot are—but I see your point, Revas."

Solas kept his face impassive as he thought, _And I fail to see how you shemlen don't topple over with how thickset you all are._

Bartholomew went on, "And I have every intention of seeing you recover." Leaning forward slightly, he said, "I have a new bet now with Ser Jeremy—you're going to not only live, but you'll be walking by the end of the month." He clapped his hand on the bars, making Solas flinch again. "Twenty royals this time. Don't let me down," he growled though he was still grinning. "You hear me, Revas?"

"I shall endeavor to make it so," Solas replied with a small smile. _Fenedhis, how humiliating._ Would Bartholomew and Jeremy bet on him like this the entire time he was here? He could almost hear Bartholomew's hushed words in some distant future weeks from now pressuring him to undergo his Harrowing by a certain date or else Jeremy would win their latest bet.

"Excellent," Bartholomew said and then strode away, calling over his shoulder, "I'll return to speak again with you soon, Revas. Keep kicking."

_I'll be waiting with baited breath,_ Solas thought and rolled his eyes now that the Templar could no longer see him. At least he'd been lucky thus far that Bartholomew was fairly well-mannered and honorable for a Chantry-sanctioned thug. Curtis on the other hand…

The memory of the elven woman's screams echoed through his mind once more and he felt his skin flush hot with rage and frustration. Rage because he would have liked to have petrified Curtis for such cruelty, and frustration for the knowledge that he could do _nothing_ for anyone right now. Still, he vowed that whenever he was strong enough, he'd make a point to kill Curtis. No one—especially not a useless shemlen—should be allowed to beat one of the People.

… _except she isn't one of the People._

"Fenedhis," he mouthed the curse to himself, not daring even to whisper it. How had he forgotten that these were shadow elves? Shem-elves. He had to focus on saving the _real_ People. _His_ people, the Elvhen, most of whom were still slumbering in uthenera, awaiting his summons.

Waiting for him to tear down the Veil.

_Bide your time,_ he cautioned himself with a deep, calming breath. _Be patient and observant and the right moment to strike_ will _come._

As silence descended on the prison cells, Solas let himself sag back to the floor, relaxing. He closed his eyes, ready to slip into the Fade to continue his feverish quest trying to reconnect with his innate powers, but then he heard the young elven man from the cell beside his call out, _"Lethallin…"_

Letting out a little huff, Solas thought, _I am not your kin._ Then he replied, "Yes?" He scowled and cleared his throat, trying to reduce the ragged hoarseness of it.

"Your name is Revas?" Tal asked.

"Yes," he lied, eyes still closed as he refused to relinquish his current plan to reenter the Fade.

"I'm Tal," the man—scarcely more than a boy, really, by the sound of his voice—introduced himself unnecessarily. After a moment of silence he spoke again, this time with a note of earnestness. "Forgive me, I overheard your conversation with the Templars. They found you with an artifact? In a tomb?"

Cold washed over Solas and he held his breath an instant as his mind whirled, wondering at Tal's interest. The Dalish were a varied people, fragmented and scattered, but united in that they possessed and sought out secrets from the distant past. Some clans even served as guardians for artifacts like foci. Perhaps Tal's clan had encountered foci before and he'd recognized the description Bartholomew gave as a result. But, frighteningly, there was also a chance Tal or his female companion would realize Solas had not been weakened by the foci but had in fact woken from uthenera. Unlike the Templars, the Dalish knew of uthenera.

He had to be _very_ careful what he revealed.

"So they tell me," Solas answered, trying not to sound as guarded as he felt. "I have no memory of it."

"You mentioned murals," Tal insisted. "What were they of?"

"Mythal," Solas lied. "Or perhaps it was Sylaise…"

"You don't know?" Tal asked, sounding skeptical.

"I was more interested in the mural's construction than its depiction," Solas clarified, lying again. Then, for good measure, he threw in a bit of truth. "I have an interest in painting and I hoped to puzzle out what pigments were used on the tiles."

"I see," Tal said with a note of disappointment. He let out a long, deep sigh.

Silence descended again on the prison and Solas let himself relax, his heart slowing after Tal's pointed questions. What had he been hoping to uncover, anyway?

________________________________________________

Solas had not been at the mercy of his own dreams since childhood, but now he found himself standing in the crop fields surrounding his village, watching as smoke poured into the sky. High overhead, Solas saw the sun setting to the west in a fiery display of stunning colors—pink, purple, orange, yellow, red, and green. Rocks floated like clouds, highlighted by the setting sun and coated in greenery and with Fade ether clinging to them like mist around waterfalls. Ether rose around Solas, twining in invisible streams.

These were not the details of the dreaming Fade, but of Thedas pre-Veil. This was Elvhenan, his home—now only a memory.

The only detail that was _wrong_ in this current reconstruction was the Black City. It hung in the sky, distant and dreary, orange and green lights in its spires like campfires on a hillside. If this had truly been Elvhenan the city would be golden, glimmering like a jewel. It was _Anor'Venuralas._ The place of the gods and the pride of the seven Evanuris—Sylaise, June, Andruil, Falon'Din, Dirthamen, Mythal and Elgar'nan. Ghilan'nain and Solas himself had only been recognized later, after the city's construction.

The village echoed with screaming and shouting, a mixture of enraged war cries and the piteous keening of their victims. Spirits in the vague shape of humanoid figures—elves—ran through the field. Fireballs cast from their hands torched the crops, devouring them as dozens of ex-slaves took out their wrath on the innocent plants. These men and women were fuzzy when Solas looked at them directly, a consequence of the spirits' simplicity and the fact that Solas had never known any of these rebel slaves personally.

…and because Solas had never witnessed this attack firsthand. He'd forced himself to watch the event with the help of impressions from wisps that'd witnessed it. And he'd seen the effects of the attack afterward: the ashes of crops and corpses and houses. Yet, because the Fade had no direct memories to pull from him in recreating this moment, and _most_ of the people within it, everything regarding the attack would be vague.

Except for many of the victims, of course. He'd known _them_. Somewhere in the village he knew he'd find a man and woman whose faces and bodies had been recreated by the spirits with exquisite detail. That couple would be standing proud and refusing to run as the rebels swarmed them. The woman, the village's headmistress and crop-master, would proclaim her support for the rebels' cause and try to make them spare her people as noncombatants.

" _Burn the crops to send your message to Elgar'nan. What you have suffered is wrong and I regret I took any part in it, but it was never our choice to use slaves. We will not fight you. Take us to your leader and many of us may join your cause…"_

But he already knew how this ended. The rebel slaves burned her husband alive and tore her apart. None of the slaves knew that this village, which they'd chosen at random because it was within Elgar'nan's lands, had been Fen'Harel's birthplace. They didn't know that the headmistress they butchered in Fen'Harel's name was Solas' mother. And her husband, burned alive, was his father.

Despair tightened his throat and tugged down on his shoulders even as rage made his fists clench. _This never should have happened!_ _I will not sit by and watch this…_

Whipping on his heel, Solas stormed into the dark forest surrounding the village. The trees were dark and obscured with green Fade ether. Wisps hummed and sang like birds, playing in the tendrils of ether. The screams and shouts from the village dimmed as Solas walked. The forest here was familiar to Solas from long years spent roaming it as a child. The Fade, reacting to his memory, reconstructed it loyally.

_Good,_ he thought, feeling shaky with relief. If he could not reshape this dream and the Fade in his weakened state, then at least he could alter it with the advantage of his knowledge.

Spirits clamored at the edge of his vision, observing him. When Solas glanced toward their green, translucent forms they warped into ferns or saplings or toadstools, eager to impress him with their reconstruction of the physical realm. Watching them, the corner of Solas' lip twitched upward as he considered whether any of them might be intelligent enough to serve him. Unable to shape the Fade currently, he had no way to try and summon any of his agents.

There was one in particular who might aid him in escaping the Circle tower: Felassan.

Then, suddenly, Solas tensed, feeling a weight spring into the back of his mind. It was the distinctive sensation of another Dreamer nearby. His heart pounded as both alarm and hope churned his stomach. In this sundered world, Dreamers were virtually extinct. The only one he could think of who'd know to seek him in the Fade would be Felassan.

Spinning in a slow circle, Solas scanned the dark forest around him, eyes narrowed and body tight with nervous anticipation. In his weakened state he didn't know whether he would be able to defend himself should this prove to, somehow, be a hostile Dreamer and not Felassan after all.

_But in this sundered world?_ He wanted to snort with derision at himself. A Dreamer in this age would only become a target of demons and wind up dead at the hands of Templars. They'd likely forgotten the frightening power of Dreamers to kill sleepers in the Fade.

"Who are you?" he called to the trees. "Show yourself."

A twig cracked off to his far right and Solas whipped in that direction, glaring and raising his hands in a position for defensive casting—though when he reached for his mana core he felt a spurt of pain and winced. He held himself motionless, still ready to cast despite being unable to do so, as he watched a shadow peel away from the gray, misty forest ahead of him. In the faint light from what was left of the setting sun, Solas saw a lithe figure emerge dressed in Dalish Keeper armor.

Dalish _female_ Keeper armor. This was _not_ Felassan.

Blinking with bafflement, Solas stayed tense as he watched the woman draw nearer. She was crisp in her resolution, indicating a strong connection to the Fade. Her armor glinted in the light and her warm skin tone contrasted sharply with her pale vallaslin. The markings devoted her to Dirthamen. Her brown hair was tied up in an intricate pattern of braids and knots, though a few strands peeked out at the frizzled edges. The low light put her features in sharp contrast, but Solas frowned at the niggling sense of recognition that laced through him.

Her eyes glimmered as she shot him a coy smile. " _Andaran atish'an_ , Revas."

Solas gazed at her, struggling to keep his expression impassive as he made the connection. This was the elven woman Curtis had been beating, possibly Tal's sister.

And she was a Dreamer. This _Dalish shem-elf_ was a Dreamer. Perhaps, Solas thought, he had taken leave of his senses before falling asleep. Or maybe he'd never woken from uthenera but had simply crossed into some sort of…other plane of existence? That seemed more likely than what was currently happening to him, anyway.

The woman laid a hand over her chest and introduced herself while still wearing the same coy smile. "I am Rosa of clan Naseral." When he made no reply, Rosa chuckled. "What's the matter, flat-ear? Did the Dread Wolf take your tongue?"

He stared at her, pulse racing and sweating as he flushed cold and then hot. _It's not possible,_ he thought, his mind spinning in an endless loop. _She can't know me. She can't be a Dreamer._

Rosa cocked her head as she gazed at him, the smile easing into something softer now as she motioned at the dreamscape around them. "This is one of the strangest dreams I've ever walked into." She chuckled, wafting a hand casually through the Fade ether. "I usually only see this stuff in the raw Fade."

Remaining motionless, Solas swallowed hard, throat bobbing. He felt inward, stroking his mana core for reassurance and finding only that dull, pathetic ache of emptiness. If she attacked his only option then was to flee the Fade and waken in his cell.

Sighing then, Rosa let her arms flop to her sides in a motion that spoke of impatience. "Did the Templars rob you of your wits?" she asked. "Or did you never have them to begin with?"

Blinking slowly, Solas shook his head and licked his lips. "…excuse me?" He could not keep the slight note of irritation from his tone.

Now Rosa grinned and nodded. "He speaks! Excellent. I may have to plant a tree to commemorate this momentous occasion."

Now Solas' face flushed with heat and he scowled. "Of all the arrogant, simple-minded…"

She laughed and turned slightly to pick absently at the tree trunk she stood beside. "Ir abelas, if I have offended," she intoned with feigned solemnity. Then followed it up with a mischievous grin as she added, "Flat-ear."

_Flat-ear?_ He bristled, hands clenching into fists. "Fenedhis," he growled under his breath. "Have you no manners?" He spread his arms wide, indicating the Fade forest around them. "How would you have preferred I react to your presence, _da'len?_ "he asked, snarling as his mind worked quickly, coming up with more ways to defend himself and correct her rudeness."You could have been a demon," he spluttered. It was a lie, of course, but she didn't need to know he would know the difference so readily…

Rosa snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her shoulder against the tree. "Please, Revas. You're a Dreamer. Do I _feel_ like a demon to you?"

_Fenedhis,_ he cursed inwardly. She had him there and Solas' skin prickled with both annoyance and sharp curiosity. For Rosa to recognize him as another Dreamer suggested she'd met others before, perhaps been taught by one. He'd assumed she would be ignorant and inexperienced, considering she appeared to be barely out of her teens and with Dreamers presumably being so rare…

Falling silent, he tried to calm himself with several deep breaths before deciding to try a touch of honesty. "I did not expect to encounter another Dreamer."

Laughing again, Rosa quipped, "Neither did I!" Inspecting her fingernails, she added, "I couldn't sense anything from you in the waking world. You might as well be Tranquil there."

Snarling at her comment, more at hatred for his own weakness than for her observation, he grumbled, "Indeed."

"So…" Rosa said, pushing off the tree and striding closer to him. Her feet were barefoot except for her wraps, moving soundlessly through the leaf litter. The steps were confident, smooth and graceful, but tempered with purpose. He could feel it rolling from her like magic, stiffening his muscles with tension. There was something…odd about her, something he couldn't quite place.

"Yes?" Solas asked her, growling out the single word.

"Imagine my surprise and pleasure when I entered the Fade and felt you, another Dreamer," Rosa went on, circling around him. Solas turned slowly, keeping pace with her and watching her with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "There may be hope after all," she said, smiling at him now genuinely. 

Her voice carried a note that suggested she had more to say. A lot more. Solas sensed a proposition on the wind, as clear as the Fade ether still swirling in the air around them. "What do you want from me?" Solas asked her, arching a brow. "That is, assuming you have any goals beyond planting trees to commemorate non-events for your clan and humiliating me in the Fade."

She rounded on him, arms still crossed over her chest. "Tell me something, flat-ear, do you _enjoy_ making nice with the Templars? If that ginger shem returns tomorrow to interrogate you some more and asks you if you'd like to lick his boots, will you do it?"

Snarling at her, Solas shouted, "No, do not be _ridiculous._ "

Now her coy smile had returned. "So you're just putting on an act then?"

Glaring at her, Solas remained silent. Dreamer though she was, he was starting to believe he'd rather lick Ser Bartholomew's boots than aid her in whatever she wanted. Mimicking her body language, he crossed his arms over his chest and wished he could will her away as easily as he once had reshaped the Fade.

Her smile broadened into a grin. "You're putting on an act. I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice. You've got too much pride to submit like this to these Templar thugs." Her gaze swept over him quickly, then returned to his face, a fierce glimmer in her eye.

He felt a cold chill pass through him at the steely intelligence he saw in her eyes. It was…too reminiscent of the Elvhen he'd known. Too _real_.

"You know nothing about me," Solas snarled, hoping that was true. Her earlier comment about the Dread Wolf still had his guts in cold knots of fear.

Rosa leaned in slightly, her voice a near-whisper, "I know you're lying about the artifact the Templars found you with."

He inhaled slightly but otherwise gave no indication of the shock that shot through him. Sweat dripped down his back and collected at his collar. His scalp itched. Still glowering at her, Solas growled, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes, you do," Rosa rejoined, smirking knowingly. "The artifact they described isn't something you'd just come across in the woods on accident. It's from _Elvhenan,_ a foci used by the gods. They were all lost to Tevinter long ago." She cocked her head, regarding him with something akin to amusement. "So, what were _you_ doing with one? Did you steal one from a Magister or something?" Her brow furrowed suddenly, anger darkening her features. "Or did you find a clan that possessed one and took it from them?"

Feeling his stomach go cold with quiet horror at the direction of this discussion, Solas scoffed and shook his head, quick to find a suitable reply. "Did it truly never occur to you that the shemlen may have _missed_ a tomb? Or the Dalish?" Huffing out an angry breath, Solas stalked away from her a few steps before turning on his heel to glower at her again. "Regardless of what you choose to believe, I have nothing to give you but the truth. Assuming the Templars are correct about this supposed artifact that was with me, I must have discovered it in those ruins. There is no other explanation."

Rosa stared at him, the angry expression easing into one of contemplation as she chewed her lip, eyes narrowed at him. Finally she said, "I believe you."

"What a relief," Solas quipped sarcastically. "A Dalish elf accepting the word of a lesser elf such as myself. Truly, you are correct that we must remember this event by planting a tree."

She snorted, her nose wrinkling as she grinned with real humor. "All right, I had that coming, flat-ear. Fair is fair."

"My name is _not_ flat-ear," Solas growled, sneering in her direction briefly before heading off toward the trees, his stride quick and his shoulders hunched. He felt a flash of cold and saw a blue streak. He halted just in time to avoid colliding with the Dalish woman as she Fade-stepped into his path to block him.

"Get out of my way," Solas snapped. "I have no desire to continue speaking with you."

Rosa held up her palms in a defensive position. "Revas— _Ir abelas. Venavis."_

Nostrils flaring, Solas continued to glare at her. "Get out of my way," he repeated.

She made a shrugging motion, taking in the Fade around them with a sweep of both arms. "Where are you going to go, Revas? Hmm? Deeper into the Fade, maybe?" She grunted and smiled. The glint in her eyes was bright, catching the light from the moon that now peeked through the canopy. It was that unnerving _realness_ again that made Solas recoil, drawing a step back.

"But you have to wake up some time, right?" she went on, a challenge in her voice. "And then you'll be stuck in that cell, next to Tal and me, waiting for the Templars to decide they're going to make you Tranquil."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Solas glared at her, hating her for being correct. His shoulders heaved as he breathed, feeling a slight wave of dizziness. A reminder of how weak he was and would seemingly remain for some time. "Your point, _da'len?"_

Now, for the first time, Solas saw Rosa reveal nervousness as she suddenly dropped her gaze to her hands, which she'd begun wringing together in front of her. Her lips twisted and her chin trembled. "It's only a matter of time before they decide to make both of us Tranquil. When they realize we're Dreamers. All they know about us is that we're demon-magnets, more so than the other mages. To them, it's saving our lives because they think we'll just become abominations and they'll have to kill us."

She lifted her eyes to meet his, clenching her jaw. "But I'd rather be dead than be one of those…" She sneered. "…those walking corpses." Swallowing hard, she gestured to the Fade. "I'd rather be dead than lose _this._ Wouldn't you?"

Watching her, listening to her vehemence, Solas' irritation evaporated. His brow knit as he breathed in the brisk, earthy scent of the Fade forest around him and inclined his head to glance up through the canopy toward the moonlight. The way it cut through the sky in a brilliant display of colors—pink and green—could only happen again if the Veil was destroyed.

Slowly, Solas nodded at her, his voice somber. "I would."

She searched over his face a moment and drew in a deep breath through her mouth. "Then what do we have to lose, Revas? We can help each other—you, me, and Tal—escape these bastard shemlen and their wretched Circle." Blinking then, her lips formed an O-shape as she added, "And we have to nab that foci back from the Templars. Can't forget that."

Now Solas arched an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"That thing is _Elvhen,_ " Rosa said, making a face. "We can't leave it with shemlen." At Solas' silence she groaned. "C'mon, even a flat-ear should appreciate that."

He _did_ , of course, but he wanted to do that alone. He couldn't risk having Tal and Rosa betray him and steal it, yet simultaneously he couldn't demand the orb as a price for his aid in their mutual escape from the Circle because of his cover story. Additionally, as weak as he was, escape wasn't likely any time soon without help from these two Dalish elves. Trapped by his own machinations, Solas pushed that concern from his mind as a problem for the future. Best to show little to no interest in the artifact to avoid tipping her off.

"Why would you help me?" he asked after a moment, letting suspicion creep into his voice. "The Dalish have little love for those outside their clans, such as myself. What do you care if I am made Tranquil?"

Rosa scowled, her nose wrinkling as she shook her head, as if she'd tasted something bitter. "Been eating a lot of sour grapes lately, Revas?" She snorted, eyeing him with amusement. "I came here to see if I thought Tal and I could trust you _at all_ or if you were going to happily kiss Templar ass like a good little Chantry Circle Enchanter." She smirked at his glare. "And," she changed her tone and altered her pronunciation slightly to match his cadence of speech, clearly imitating him, " _Did it truly never occur to you that not all Dalish clans are as closed-minded as the one that turned you away?_ "

_No,_ Solas thought, frowning. _It did not._ Because they _were_ virtually all as closed-minded as the cover story he'd presented to Curtis and Bartholomew. City elves were not equal in their arrogant eyes. Pompous, pretentious fools, all of them. At least Solas could pity the city elves, but the Dalish just left him angry.

"For what it's worth," Rosa broached the silence again when he made no reply. "I don't have a clan any longer. Neither does Tal. Without our clans, what are we except elves?" Pointing to him and then to herself, she added, "And not to mention you and I are both Dreamers. And all three of us are mages who don't want to be left in a Circle to rot." She shrugged. "Why _wouldn't_ we help each other?"

Accepting the inevitable wisdom of her argument, as well as the unavoidable fact that he stood a better chance of escape with their help than without it, Solas nodded. Tucking his hands behind his back in a loose fist, he squared his shoulders. "Very well," he agreed. "How can I help?"

_____________________________________________

Original posting's author notes:

In portraying the Templars in this Circle, I wanted to make sure we clearly have a mix of good and bad people. As Vivienne says in the game, every Circle was unique, every mage's experience different. And YAY! Now we've introduced Rosa (and Tal a little) properly.

**Next Chapter:**

First Enchanter Braden shook his head, eyes flicking toward the hall behind Solas, to Bartholomew no doubt. "It would seem I owe Ser Bartholomew twenty royals."

"I am pleased to have proven you wrong," Solas said with a nod and a feigned smile. "Although I lament that my survival incurred debt." He almost cringed at the note of sarcasm that slipped into his voice at the last comment.

Braden stared at him a moment, deadpan, and then grinned. "I can see why Barth likes you, Revas. I think you'll fit in well here."

_Void take me first,_ Solas thought. Aloud he said, "I agree."


	3. Even Savages Must Wear Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't like being forced to choose between my duty and what's right. Knight-Commander Eron used to say that a Templar's duty should always be questioned, and that the moment we stopped doing so was when we stopped being Templars."—Ser Evangeline (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Solas and the Dalish siblings get out of Circle jail. They also get baths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for Templar vileness this chapter.

It was difficult to maintain an accurate sense of time in the cell. Solas spent most of his first few days asleep, too exhausted and weak to do more than speak when Bartholomew came by to interview him. His meals were regular, if revolting. He noticed that the Templars fed him more often than they did the Dalish mages in the cells further down. It seemed his good behavior—or Bartholomew's bet with the other Templar, Ser Jeremy, more likely—had proven advantageous for his health.

By the third day he'd forced himself to spend more time awake, trying to stand. His ankles wobbled and his knees shook the first time he managed to rise, and every muscle screamed with agony. Yet, even as Solas' head swam and his vision darkened from the pain, he felt the surge of triumph in this small victory. It was over swiftly as his knees gave out and plopped him back to the floor.

The noise of his fall drew Tal and Rosa's attention and he heard them whispering in elven. Most of the words were too quiet for him to make out, but he heard what he thought was his "name" spoken several times. Either that or the siblings discussed freedom (revas) directly. They often spoke together in hushed whispers through the bars of their cell doors, but rarely to him. Still, he had the sense that these two weren't communicating _enough_ and suspected they used the Fade more often than the waking world.

Ah, the benefits of being a Dreamer...particularly one who could actually reshape the Fade. Unlike _him,_ currently.

By the end of the fourth day, or what he thought was the fourth day, Solas had managed to walk a pace or two before collapsing. His hips were bruised from the falls, his bones aching and muscles trembling, but the pain only made his resolve harden. He _would_ walk again. Run again. Whenever Tal and Rosa decided to enact whatever plan they eventually formulated, Solas needed to be ready because he didn't trust them not to betray him or simply leave him alone.

Rosa had not reentered his dreams since the first time, though she'd promised to return. Solas both dreaded and welcomed another visit. He feared what she'd walk into when she entered his dreams next, however. His dreams tended to be about Elvhenan, and eventually Rosa would figure that out. Yet at the same time, _any_ progress was better than this excruciating and _boring_ waiting as he frantically tried to force his body to recover.

At the end of the sixth day Solas managed to walk shakily from one side of his cell to the other. In doing so he discovered that from the opposite wall of his cell he could see a faint, green light reflecting from the wall further down the passageway. After several unsteady passes back and forth over the cold stone of his cell, Solas realized the light was _moving._

_A wisp,_ he realized. The Dalish mages were likely using it to pass messages in silence while awake. A clever tactic, one he could admire for its ingenuity. He made a note to himself to see about approaching Rosa and Tal's clans when he was free, to see if they could be recruited in one way or another. The knowledge Rosa had displayed regarding the foci and now the wisp were…

_Impressive?_ No, that was far too high of praise. It was just more than he'd expected from shem-elves in this shadow realm. That was all.

He was still making slow, shaky circuits around his cell when he heard the door at the far end of their cellblock creak on its rusty metal hinges. The clink-clap of Templar feet clomping over the stone came next, echoing through the narrow hall, along with the quieter shuffle of someone else. Solas reached the wall closest to the door and propped himself upright on it as he waited, shoulders heaving.

Ser Bartholomew and the Tranquil, Lyn, stopped at his cell door. The Templar opened it with a jangle of keys, his mouth already curving in a bright, triumphant smile. "Actually standing today, are you, Revas?" He clapped his hands together, rubbing the palms. "I can almost taste the steak I'm going get with Jeremy's twenty royals now. You're doing better than I thought you would."

Solas made no reply except a slight nod to acknowledge he'd heard, instead focusing on Lyn as she stepped around Bartholomew. The Tranquil woman held his usual meal of gruel in a sizeable bowl in her one hand with a water skin in the other, but tucked beneath her arm was a folded robe in blue and green and tan. Seeing Solas' gaze, Bartholomew reached for the clothes, relieving Lyn of the awkward placement under her arm.

The Templar held it out, fumbling as the breeches slipped from his grasp. "The First Enchanter and I convinced Knight-Commander Kali that this cell was no place for you to convalesce." Grunting, Bartholomew folded the robe over his arm when Solas made no move to take it from him. "You're to join the other apprentices and the First Enchanter will assess you."

Swallowing to wet his ever-parched throat, Solas feigned a smile and dipped his head. "My thanks, Ser Bartholomew." Glancing again at the robe he fought the creep of a blush as he wondered if he could even manage to dress himself at this point. The thought of wearing the enchanter robes twisted his stomach with revulsion, but his uthenera robes were anything but clean by now. He'd done nothing but sleep in grit on the floor since coming here and had soiled them while crawling through the dirt to escape his uthenera chamber. A change of clothes and a _bath_ would be delightful—even if they only came as rewards for his good behavior…

_Or my readiness to lick Ser Bartholomew's boots, as a certain Dalish woman put it._ Fenedhis. If Felassan or _any_ of his Elvhen friends and advisors could see him now, Solas would never hear the end of it.

"Well then," Bartholomew said and then clapped Lyn on the shoulder, unsteadying her enough that the gruel sloshed in the wooden bowl, a little spilling over the edge. "What are you waiting for? Give him his food."

"A moment, please," Solas said and then, slowly and with caution, eased himself down onto the floor. Once settled, he extended both hands for the bowl and Lyn passed it to him.

The meal was bland and revolting as usual, though it tasted rich and there might have even been chunks of meat within it. Solas ate it with relish, his hands only trembling slightly now. His body buzzed with pleasure at the infusion of sustenance. When he'd finished, Solas gave the bowl back to Lyn and she wordlessly offered the flask of water. But as Solas took his first sip from it, he made a face. That was _not_ water. The mixture of sweetness and alcoholic twang tingled his mouth and flushed his stomach with heat after he swallowed.

Bartholomew chuckled. "Not a fan of wine?"

"Quite the opposite, I assure you," Solas replied, pausing a moment as he tried to gauge how much wine the flask contained. Was it enough to inebriate him in his weakened state? Or could it have been drugged? "It was merely unexpected. My thanks, again."

"Well," Bartholomew said with a shrug. "Had to give you a little extra something. Call it dessert."

Deciding he trusted Bartholomew not to give him poisoned or drugged wine, Solas drank again, deeper this time. After the blandness of the gruel, his taste buds seemed to scream with enjoyment at the sharp taste of the alcohol. It was _nothing_ compared to the exquisite wines he'd consumed in Arlathan, and not even enchanted, but the austerity with which he'd grown accustomed made it mouthwateringly delicious. He finished the flask and returned it to Lyn. "My thanks," he said again to both of them.

"All right then," Bartholomew said and strode toward the cell door. "Help him up, Lyn. Let's get him moving."

The Tranquil woman strode toward him and knelt, reaching for his arm. Solas let her and used the wall to heave himself up with a grunt of effort. His legs shook but bore his weight.

As they started for the door, however, Solas heard the clomp of more Templars approaching down the hall. Lyn paused as Bartholomew raised a hand, palm out in a motion that commanded silently _stop._ Solas waited, ignoring the burning of his muscles as he willed them to bear his weight without quivering with weakness. His face felt hot all the way to his ear tips. Distracted by the pain, he almost missed the sight of Curtis and another Templar in full armor slipping past Bartholomew to reach the cells beyond Solas' where the two Dalish mages were locked up.

"We'd better wait for them to pass," Bartholomew said and stepped back slightly from the door to call out to the other Templars. "Ser Curtis? Ser Jeremy? You here for the knife-ears?"

"Yep," one of them, not Curtis, replied. "Knight-Commander thinks they'll be hungry enough by now they'll play nice."

"Not that bitch," Curtis' familiar voice growled. The cell door whined as it opened and footsteps tramped over the floor. "Get up, you sodding piece of filth."

The other Templar had apparently gone into Tal's cell and wrangled him up without a fight. "Get moving," he grumbled, shoving Tal into the hall. The young Dalish man walked with his hands tucked close to his sides, shepherded by a tall Templar who stalked behind him. He shot Solas a sidelong look as he passed, his gaze skipping rapidly over him. His pace slowed as he did so, irritating the Templar behind him, earning him another rough shove. "Move."

Tal resisted, twisting at the neck to glance over his shoulder toward Rosa's cell. "Please—can we wait for—"

"I said _move,"_ the Templar snarled, pushing him much harder this time.

Tal yelped and staggered, stumbling further down the hall and out of Solas' view. He heard their footsteps echoing as they kept marching gradually down the hallway toward the cellblock exit.

From Rosa's cell came the sudden clap of flesh against flesh and Rosa's voice yelled shrilly in elven, _"Keep your hands off me, fucking shemlen dog!"_

"Savage," Curtis said, his voice deep and throaty. _Husky._ As if aroused.

Solas' stomach clenched, the meal he'd just consumed seeming to turn to ice and curdle. His hand not clutching at Lyn for support clenched into a fist. He stared at Bartholomew, watching the redheaded Templar—who'd thus far been fairly kindhearted and sensible for a Chantry thug—and silently pleading with him to intercede. He'd seen nightmarish dreams from mages trapped in Circles where Templars committed all manner of abuses against their imprisoned charges: beatings, starvation, torture, harassment, assault and rape.

He'd seen just that type of abuse in Elvhenan, even as a child in his remote village. In those days it'd been against slaves, made mindless and helpless by their vallaslin— _blood writing_ that bound them to the will of their captors. The cruelty of it had been what drove him into the wilderness, rejecting Elvhen society in favor of spirits. It set him on the path to becoming Fen'Harel, to devoting his life to ending the brutality of those with no power and no voice.

There was a shuffling sound, the scuffle and creak of leather, then Rosa let out a strained noise from deep in her throat. Rage and fear. "Let go of me," she snarled in the human tongue this time. "Void take you!"

Curtis answered in a low voice that Solas' keen ears barely picked out: "I'll _take_ you, all right."

Bartholomew, who'd been watching through the cell door, cleared his throat then, finally intervening. "Ser Curtis," he said drolly. "If you're _quite_ finished terrorizing that rabbit, I'd like to remind you that when the Chant says mages are to serve man, it doesn't mean in _that_ way."

Some of the broiling heat in Solas' blood eased as he heard Curtis grumble under his breath and then their two sets of footsteps thumped out of the cell in a shuffle. "Keep moving, bitch," Curtis said, his face carved in an ugly leer as he lumbered behind Rosa's lithe, nimble frame. Like Tal, Rosa hesitated slightly as she passed his cell door, gazing at him with narrowed, sharp eyes. Her jaw was clenched and her shoulders hunched, her hands fisted at her sides.

Then Curtis pushed her again and they were gone, out of Solas' view.

The rage in her stance wasn't directed at him, but at Curtis, of course. Solas found himself swallowing hard with a cold chill of fear racing through him as he suspected Curtis' behavior would quickly degenerate the moment he was out of Bartholomew's sight…

"Ser Bartholomew," Solas blurted, his voice tight and hoarse.

The Templar turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. "Revas?"

Solas hadn't meant to speak so abruptly and hesitated a heartbeat as varying concerns flitted through his mind, vying for importance. He should say nothing and be pliant, obedient, and the ideal "apprentice." This was a shadow world and Rosa a shem-elf. What did he care if she suffered as long as he achieved his goals? She would probably die anyway when this world burned, when he tore down the Veil.

_It matters to_ me _,_ he realized. _He_ would remember this moment, remember biting his tongue in selfishness and looking the other way just as everyone else in Elvhenan had done with slaves before. If he betrayed _himself_ , even in this shadow world with its shem-elves, what good was he? He'd be the monster the Dalish remembered in their legends.

_Fenedhis._ He swayed on his feet. His free hand shot out and caught the wall for additional support as he licked his lips and plunged on with what he'd planned to say. "I wonder if you might accompany Ser Curtis and the Dalish woman?"

Bartholomew scowled, but the expression was one of contemplation rather than disapproval. "And why is that?"

"She seems defiant," Solas supplied. "Two Templars may give her pause if she feels inclined to do something foolish."

Bartholomew was silent a moment before he snorted. "Ser Curtis can handle her." He shook his head, laughing for a moment before he sighed. "Maker's breath. Mages telling me how to do my job." Turning on his heel, he strode out of the cell and motioned toward Lyn to guide Solas out as well. "Tell you what, Revas, you worry about walking properly again and _I_ will worry about controlling my charges. I've still got twenty royals on you doing more than the shambling you're doing now in two weeks' time."

Solas remained silent, trying to focus on his legs and feet, the awkward back and forth of walking with Lyn supporting him. _I tried,_ he thought. It was the only thing he could do at this point, as weak as he was. He hung his head and tried not to think at all.

________________________________________

After climbing an _obscene_ amount of stairs and walking a _ridiculous_ distance through the tower, Lyn and Bartholomew took him to a room with dozens of round, brass tubs. The windows along one curved wall of the tower had a layer of condensation over them, blocking the view of the outside but still allowing light into the room. Steam thickened the air and Tranquil walked with their swift, focused stride between the tubs, hauling water. Each tub had enchantments and runes over the side to heat the water on its own.

Most of the tubs had folded partitions stacked alongside them to create a modicum of privacy, if such a thing were desired. Solas saw one such partition had been spread out to shield a tub on the far side of the room. Standing with his back to it was Curtis, his arms crossed over his chest and his face set in a scowl. Closer to the center of the room Solas saw a young elven man—Tal, undoubtedly—in a tub without a partition, another Templar standing watch with an expression of boredom.

Hearing Lyn and Bartholomew enter, both of the other Templars glanced up and the man guarding Tal grinned. "Ser Barth," he greeted him with a grunting laugh. "Out walking that hopeless wretch of yours? What did I tell you about taking in strays?"

"That you hate it when you lose money to me," Bartholomew rejoined with a laugh. He stepped further into the room to the next nearest tub full of steaming water and then waited as Lyn helped Solas shuffle awkwardly forward. As Bartholomew turned round to face the other Templar, Solas realized with a flutter of muted horror that none of them planned to raise the partition and they expected him to bathe in full view of them, much like Tal in his tub. Nakedness had never been something Solas was particularly ashamed of, but he'd never been in a situation that stripped him of any _choice_ in the matter. Now, weak and at the Templars' mercy, he gnashed his teeth together and tried not to feel the burning humiliation spreading as a blush over his face all the way to his ear tips.

Lyn, of course, had no reaction and would not care about modesty as a Tranquil, but Solas saw Tal twist his head to stare in his direction with a curious expression. Solas tried to ignore the way his stomach roiled when he thought he glimpsed a twinge of pity cross the younger man's face. The Templars, meanwhile, seemed content to ignore him as they continued to banter with one another.

With Lyn's help, Solas managed to shed his soiled uthenera robes and bit his lips to silence the groan of pleasure and relief at the steamy touch of the water. He let himself slump in the brass tub for a time, eyes closed and muscles relaxed, all humiliation momentarily forgotten. A distant part of him could almost feel a…strange fondness for Bartholomew now for allowing him this simple pleasure.

And then he froze, scowling down at the clear water without seeing his skeletal calves and thighs as he realized the disturbing direction of his own thoughts. How sickeningly easy it could be to begin focusing on the "kindnesses" the Templars provided. Never mind that he should have been free, rather than locked in a cell like a criminal simply because he possessed magic and these close-minded, simple fools feared that power. He remembered Rosa's screams when Curtis had beaten her, and Bartholomew's casual dismissal of Solas' veiled concern for her welfare around the obviously leering Templar.

He'd seen captives grow senselessly enamored of their captors before. Some slaves he'd freed had rejected his intervention when he removed their vallaslin and lifted the compulsion of blood writing from their minds. Faced with the daunting task of finding their own way forward in the world or falling back into the sureness of servitude, many of them immediately fled back to slavery. The mind could be a tricky thing, trapping a slave long after the physical chains had been lifted.

_I will escape this place,_ he vowed.

Then, abruptly, his lips parted with surprise as, in the bathwater, he realized he was bald. Inspecting his scalp with one hand, Solas found only smooth skin. When he'd woken, he hadn't been surprised to discover his long, thick mane of brown hair missing. His attendants could have shaved it when they laid him to rest, or the extreme length of the uthenera could have made him shed his hair the way a wolf sheds its winter coat. Falon'Din had been hairless as well upon waking from his forced uthenera long after the Evanuris civil war. But, so distracted by his weakness and captivity, this was the first time Solas had realized the true depths of his hair loss.

He had no eyebrows and no sign of stubble on his scalp. Quickly taking stock of the rest of his body, he found himself to be completely hairless. _Fenedhis…_

The face peering back at him out of the bathwater seemed too long, too lean. His cheeks were gaunt, his lips wizened. Sneering at his reflection, Solas sighed and began scrubbing weakly at his arms and hands, trying to clean away the dirt and accumulated sweat. Maybe his hair would grow back. Falon'Din's certainly had.

"Would you hurry up in there?" Curtis called to Rosa behind her partition. "I don't have all bloody day, knife-ear."

"Apologies," Tal called out, as if Curtis had been speaking to him, instead. "Please forgive Rosa and I. We have rarely had baths with hot water!"

"Dalish savages," the Templar guarding Tal grumbled.

"What harm is there in them getting a little pruny in there, Ser Jeremy?" Bartholomew asked, clucking his tongue. "Can you imagine never having had a warm bath before? They may even thank us for taking them in after this."

"Those two are trouble," Jeremy complained, shaking his head. He had blocky, bulbous features and small eyes. Had he not been a Templar, Solas would have expected to see him drunk in a small-town tavern and glowering, looking for a fight simply for entertainment purposes. "They attacked a village. And they fought when we came after them."

Bartholomew shrugged. "I read your report, Ser Jeremy, but I made a point of asking them about it directly. You and I both know the villagers enjoy persecuting mages. I suspect it was less attack and more defense against the village blacksmith. Have you met the man?"

"No," Jeremy admitted. "But the mayor seemed adamant about the attack as well."

"But he didn't see the start of it, did he?"

Jeremy scowled, shifting from side to side. "No," he said grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maker, Ser Barth. You're too trusting. You're going to wind up with a fireball scorching your ass."

Solas kept one ear trained to the conversation as Lyn passed him soap from a tray and waited nearby with a towel over one arm and the robes Bartholomew had brought him in the other. He sensed Tal doing the same as the Dalish man continued splashing about in his own tub, just loud enough to seem busy though it was clear to Solas that he was stalling. Over the last five minutes Solas had seen Tal scrub the same patch of his chest three times. Either the youth thought he had an _exceptionally_ dirty chest and collarbone or he just didn't want to leave the tub. Solas could guess why—he was trying to coincide his departure with Rosa's to ensure she wasn't left alone with Curtis.

"You know why we haven't had any rebellions or even much dissent from our charges, Ser Jeremy?" Bartholomew asked quietly, gesturing with his armored hand at the rest of the room to indicate the entire tower. At Jeremy's irritated look, Bartholomew scoffed. "Come off it, man. The answer's obvious. If you treat your charges well, they will return it."

"If by treating them well, you mean bedding half the tower and spoiling the other half…"

Bartholomew stared at Jeremy a moment, his brown eyes narrowing with a flash of danger. Then, abruptly, he grinned and clapped Jeremy on the shoulder. "Very funny, Ser Jeremy. Very funny." He wagged a finger at the other man. "At least my bedroom habits are better than you Fereldeners, making love to your mabari and all."

Jeremy snarled at him. "You bastard. That's _not_ funny."

"Yes," Bartholomew replied, still grinning. "Well, neither was your comment. We shall agree to disagree."

"Fine," Jeremy muttered, though his expression suggested otherwise. Whipping around to face Tal's tub, he commanded, "Get your ass out of that tub right now, knife-ear. You're clean enough."

"Yes, ser," Tal replied obediently and then, unabashed and seemingly carefree, he hopped from the tub and snatched the towel hanging from a small metal rack at the end of it.

Averting his eyes, Solas made a face as he concentrated again on his own bath. From across the room he heard Curtis make a similar demand of Rosa and a few seconds later the elven woman emerged from around the partition, fully dressed and with her hair wet and tangled. In her arms she carried her Dalish Keeper armor and the small slippers she'd been given to wear.

Curtis stopped her, thrusting his arm out to block her. "Put the shoes on, savage."

She glared at him, jaw clenching. "No."

"What was that?" Curtis demanded, edging closer threateningly until he was scant inches from her face.

Solas had gone motionless in his tub, unable to draw his eyes from the scene and completely forgetting to continue his bath. The sight of the Templar thug looming over her, solid and menacing and malevolent in his glittering armor, made Solas' blood flush both hot and cold as his heart began hammered in his chest with the sudden ratcheting of tension in the room. Jeremy and Bartholomew watched the confrontation with only mild interest, appearing as though they had no hurry to intervene if Curtis—or Rosa for that matter—turned violent. Solas cursed them both inwardly as he took in Tal's reaction, seeing the young man had frozen as he stared, still mostly nude except for the breeches he'd just pulled on.

Rosa stood stiff and defiant, unyielding and fearless before Curtis' wrath. "Are you deaf, shemlen?" she bit out, sarcastically. "I said no."

"Little bitch," Curtis growled and raised his hand so suddenly no one hand a chance to react before he'd slapped her across the face. The blow was hard enough to make her stumble slightly, but she didn't cringe back from him. And when she turned her head to face him again, baring her teeth like a snarling wolf, Solas inhaled sharply as memory struck him, as sharp and painful as glass under his skin.

He knew what Rosa reminded him of now— _who_ she reminded him of: Mythal facing Elgar'nan. Solas had witnessed or overheard their bitter arguments many times over the centuries he served as her general. And Elgar'nan had not been afraid of striking her at the heights of his rage. That fearlessness and pride—Rosa shared it. She had the same poise that Mythal had possessed that'd allowed her to stand before Elgar'nan as he raged without flinching. It was the same reckless confidence that she'd carried to her last moments, facing Falon'Din and Elgar'nan in the ferocious surprise attack that led to her death.

Suddenly dizzy, Solas bit back the groan swelling in his throat. _No,_ he chided himself. _No. This is a shadow world. She is a shem-elf._ How could he be so foolish as to paint Rosa, a weak mortal, with Mythal's traits and likeness?

"Put on the shoes," Curtis repeated, yelling with rage. "We are not savages here. You _will_ wear shoes."

"The only savage I see here is _you,"_ Rosa snarled. "And you're wearing shoes. Seems to me shoes don't make the savage." Then, decisively, she shifted the load in her arms to free one arm and plucked the slippers from the top of her folded Keeper armor. Holding them aloft as she glared at Curtis in challenge, she dropped them to the floor. They clapped on the stone, one of them staying put where it landed and the other bouncing and rolling.

"Why you little—"

Before Curtis could strike her again, Tal was suddenly in the way, having Fade-stepped into that position. Bartholomew and Jeremy both shouted with alarm, drawing their swords with a harsh, metallic ringing. Twin pulses of energy swept the room and the Templars' swords flashed blue with their magic-suppressing power as they sprinted across the room, weaving around the tubs. "Stand down!" Bartholomew shouted.

Curtis had stopped mid strike, surprised. He staggered backward, hand fumbling at his waist for his sword. "Knife-ear scum," he snarled.

"Please," Tal shouted, both hands raised palm outward in a ceasefire motion. "Please," he repeated. "I'm not attacking anyone, I just wanted to—"

" _Are you trying to get yourself killed, brother?"_ Rosa hissed at him, trying to grab his hands and pull them down.

As if realizing his hands were in a position that lent itself well to casting, Tal abruptly tucked his arms down at his sides. He glared at Rosa over his shoulder. "I could ask you the same thing!"

"All right," Bartholomew growled, knocking Curtis aside. "Enough, boy. Go finish dressing." Slapping Curtis on the shoulder, he said, "Take charge of the knife-ear boy. I'll handle the girl."

Curtis shook his head, frowning. "Ser, I have—"

"You have your orders, Ser Curtis," he retorted. "Go."

With a last foul glare aimed at Rosa, Curtis stalked forward and snatched Tal's arm in what looked like a crushing grip. Tal yelped with surprise, but allowed himself to be dragged back toward his tub in the center of the room.

"Ser Jeremy," Bartholomew said. "You will handle the other elf." He jerked his chin toward Solas. "His name is Revas. Think you can handle him?"

Jeremy snorted and gave no answer as he clomped away, heading for Solas' tub with a stormy expression on his face. "Hurry up, skeleton," he ordered. "And don't expect me to hold your hand while you get dressed the way Ser Barth would."

Behind Jeremy, Bartholomew scowled with disapproval for a moment before facing Rosa again. Solas made a concerted effort to continue washing even as he tried to covertly observe the ongoing drama across the room. Meanwhile Curtis began ushering Tal from the room, even though the young elf had not yet finished donning his enchanter robes. Tal seemed to be walking oddly too, uneven and awkward. Solas saw he wore the shoes the Templars had provided them, though he apparently found them uncomfortable at best.

But it was Bartholomew and Rosa who drew Solas' full attention again when the Templar suddenly grabbed her Keeper armor from her. "You have no need of this anymore," Bartholomew said and twisted at the waist to snap his fingers at one of the Tranquil lingering in the room. "Take this and dispose of it."

"No," Rosa protested, her voice taking on a shrill note. "That is _mine._ There's no reason you need to—"

"This means something to you, does it?" Bartholomew asked, holding the armor tucked under his arm tightly. "No accounting for taste, I see."

Through clenched teeth, Rosa said, "Please."

"Put on the shoes," Bartholomew ordered her with a grunt.

Stiffly and shaking with anger, Rosa stooped and snatched the shoes up from the floor. Her cheek was red, likely bruising from Curtis' blow. She hiked up her skirt, revealing foot wraps around her calves. With a little effort she donned the shoes and stood upright again, staring at Bartholomew expectantly.

"Very good," Bartholomew praised with a cold smile. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Then he snapped again, pointing at the Tranquil who'd walked over to take the armor at his previous command. As Rosa looked on, her teeth gnashing and her shoulders quaking, Bartholomew passed the Keeper armor to the Tranquil and said, "Destroy this."

"Please," Rosa growled again. Her chin wrinkled and Solas thought he saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. "You said you'd give it back if I put on the shoes."

Bartholomew snorted and shook his head. "I most certainly did not say that. I asked you to put on the shoes and you obeyed. It's the first smart thing I've seen you do since you got here."

"I didn't _get_ here," Rosa snarled. "I was _abducted_ and _imprisoned…"_ She shook her head. "We are Dalish. You have no right to do this to us. We are not apostates." Then, suddenly, she choked. "Please, there's no reason to destroy my armor…"

"And there's no reason to keep it," Bartholomew retorted. "The Circle is your home now." To the Tranquil he made a dismissive motion. "Take this away and burn it."

The Tranquil dipped her head in a slight bow. "Yes, Ser." Her feet whisked over the stone as she walked away and left the room.

" _Fucking shemlen bastard,"_ Rosa cursed at him, her voice quavering. "Dread Wolf take you."

"You need to improve your attitude, rabbit," Bartholomew snapped at her. With a waving motion of his hand, he said, "Get moving."

Rosa stormed past the Templar and he followed, both of them leaving the room. Solas averted his gaze, trying to ignore the little spurt of sympathy that made something in his chest burn.

_____________________________________________

"Welcome to the Hasmal Circle," First Enchanter Braden greeted them. He was human, stocky and well built despite what Solas assumed was a cushy life trapped in this tower. Although his brown hair was still dark he'd begun to go gray at the temples.

They sat in a small office, all three elves crammed into the space as Jeremy, Curtis, and Bartholomew stood just outside the threshold in the hallway to guard them. Braden's blue eyes swept over their group, assessing them when all three elves stayed silent. "Well," he said with a smirk. "Don't everybody speak up all at once."

"Ser," Tal said, broaching the silence and swallowing hard, audibly so. "There's been a mistake." He jerked his thumb to indicate Rosa. "We are Dalish."

"I can see that based on your tattoos," Braden said, still smiling lightly. "But I'm afraid there's been no mistake. Knight-Commander Kali told me she received word of an attack against a village a few miles away on the Minanter River by some _Dalish_ apostates." He shook his head. "We cannot ignore such a thing simply because you bear facial tattoos." He paused a moment and then steepled his hands, leaning forward onto his desk. "Perhaps if your clan comes forward and claims you…"

At that Tal's shoulders fell. Rosa, meanwhile, sighed.

Solas pretended to find his hands interesting as he struggled to keep his face impassive. _So much for you both helping me escape._ But of course he could hardly blame them trying to find an easy way out by invoking their heritage. They were right that they _shouldn't_ be here.

"I see by your reactions that I shouldn't expect a clan to come forward to claim you," Braden commented with a chuckle. "Again, the Templars have kept me informed. There's no need for you both to be dishonest with me. I know you claim to be from different clans, cast out in search of a new one. That makes you apostates." He paused a beat and then said, "Wherever did you hope to go so far north? This is perilously close to Tevinter. I didn't think there were any Dalish clans around here."

"That's the way we like it," Rosa said. "Hiding right beneath your big shemlen noses."

Tal elbowed her, frowning. "Rosa…"

Braden frowned, a touch of anger warping his features. He _did_ have a sizable, generous nose. Except for his nose he might've been a handsome man. "I take it I'm wrong and there are clans this far north," he surmised, no hint of anger in his voice though it still lingered in his gaze.

"In the last Arlathvhen," Tal began, then paused, licking his lips as he explained, "That's a meeting of all the clans every ten years. In that last meeting we learned of a clan roaming the Free Marches that is in need of a First and a Second."

Braden arched an eyebrow. "First and Second what? Enchanters?"

"Apprentices to a Keeper," Tal supplied. "Rosa and I come from clans with too many mages. Rosa was First in her birth clan. I wasn't even that." He shrugged, a self-deprecating motion. "My Keeper never liked me much. He'd never take me on as his apprentice. So when another gifted child was born he asked me to leave."

"Just like that?" Braden asked, looking genuinely empathetic. "My sympathies…Tal? Is that how you say your name?"

Tal nodded. "Yes, ser."

"Well, Tal, I've run across others like you who were cast from Dalish clans, but they were usually children." He rested his chin on his steepled hands. "You both are a bit of an enigma, but I'm going to treat you like any other apprentices." He pointed at his desk in a gesture to emphasize his words. "From now on you'll serve as apprentices. Myself and some of the other enchanters will assess your skills and talent tomorrow and depending on what we find there you'll be assigned to several classes for additional training and lessons. You are to behave respectfully and conscientiously. Obey the Templars and your betters at all times and you'll be enchanters yourselves in no time."

"I cannot wait," Rosa intoned under her breath.

"Check the attitude," Braden snapped. "Or Andraste help me, I _will_ ask Knight-Commander Kali to lock you in solitary confinement. Repeated insubordination is punishable by a year in solitary confinement with rations." He glared at her and then quickly toward both Tal and Solas. "Is that understood? I refuse to let this Circle degenerate into chaos and rebellion the way others have since Kirkwall."

_Kirkwall…_ Solas blinked, struggling to place that specific reference. As he'd drawn closer to waking his dreaming had grown somewhat…fragmented and unclear. Jumbled. He knew rebellion had been brewing in the Circles for some time and he'd touched the dreams of mages who'd fled Circles that'd failed, such as the Ferelden Circle that fell during the Blight.

_Ah,_ he remembered the reference now. An apostate had blown up the Chantry there and incited rebellion against the Circle. Bartholomew's comments on rebellion in this Circle took on a sudden, larger meaning and Solas concentrated on maintaining an impassive expression as he realized how…fortuitous this could be. He'd picked the right time to be captured as an apostate it seemed. Inciting rebellion had been one of his specialties in Elvhenan, much to the Evanuris' irritation.

When it became clear that Braden expected some type of response from them all, Tal nodded and Solas did the same. Rosa's lips pinched into a hard line as she hesitated a moment longer before doing the same.

"Good," Braden said and then tilted his head up and called out to the hall. "Please escort our Dalish mages to the apprentices' quarter." Pinning Solas with a look, he added, "But please leave Revas."

Solas waited as Jeremy and Curtis stepped in and took charge of Tal and Rosa, shepherding them both out. Solas sensed Bartholomew lingering outside the office, alert but not on edge. None of them expected Solas to present any danger.

"You wished to speak with me alone, First Enchanter?" Solas asked, inclining his head forward slightly to show the other man respect. _Feigned_ respect, of course. He wanted to force a smile as well, further disarming the First Enchanter if he could, but his body ached too much with the stress of walking here. The bath had helped, but walking up even _more_ stairs from the room with the baths had left him shaky and quivering with pain. He suspected Braden and Bartholomew could both see it in his ashen skin and in the moisture of sweat Solas could feel beading at his temple and on his scalp.

"Yes," Braden said and leaned his elbows on his desk again as his eyes narrowed, observing Solas as if he were a tool or a rune that he hoped to puzzle out. "I understand you have no memory of how you came to be in your weakened state?"

"No," Solas confirmed, lying smoothly.

"And you don't remember the artifact the Templars found with you when they brought you in?"

Again Solas lied. "No." When Braden narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious, Solas finally managed to dredge up a false smile as he added, "Though, I do wish I recalled it. I have spent much of my life seeking out such lost relics. I am a scholar."

Now Braden arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well…" He spread his hands in a welcoming gesture. "You've come to the right place then." Sitting back in his seat, Braden sighed. "As I told the Dalish, you're…not exactly our usual apprentice. For one, you're easily old enough to be one of the Senior Enchanters."

_You have no idea,_ Solas thought and bit his tongue to keep from chuckling, though he knew it'd come out more of a grimacing grunt.

"In addition," Braden continued, unaware of Solas' amusement, "you've come with a most unusual artifact and in wretched physical condition." He laughed, a dark and dry sound. "Frankly, I'm stunned you survived. I checked in on you during your first few hours with us, and I can honestly say I did not think you would make the night." He shook his head, eyes flicking toward the hall behind Solas, to Bartholomew no doubt. "It would seem I owe Ser Bartholomew twenty royals."

Apparently Ser Bartholomew placed wagers the way some men consumed wine or sought out carnal pleasures. Solas kept his expression impassive, struggling as his own emotions vacillated between something akin to gratitude for Bartholomew's steadfast care and annoyance at his monetary incentive. Not to mention the casual cruelty he'd displayed in punishing Rosa by ordering her Keeper robes destroyed. Tal, in comparison, had walked out of the bath with his Keeper robes still in hand.

"I am pleased to have proven you wrong," Solas said with a nod and a feigned smile. "Although I lament that my survival incurred debt." He almost cringed at the note of sarcasm that slipped into his voice at the last comment.

Braden stared at him a moment, deadpan, and then grinned. "I can see why Barth likes you, Revas. I think you'll fit in well here."

_Void take me first,_ Solas thought. Aloud he said, "I agree."

"So," Braden said with a clap of his hands. "Tomorrow I and some of the other enchanters will assess you for skill, talent, and training. We might as well get that over with at the same time we deal with the Dalish. Then, depending on—"

"That may not be possible," Solas interrupted him with a halting gesture. His hand trembled and, frowning, Solas let it drop into his lap. The impact seemed to hurt as if his legs were bruised. He winced with the pain.

Braden cocked his head. "And why is that?"

Letting out a long breath, Solas averted his gaze. Staring off into a cobweb at the far corner behind Braden's desk as he admitted, "I have not been able to summon magic since waking…in the ruins, I mean." He swallowed, feeling heat creep up his face at his slip, _since waking_. These shemlen wouldn't catch the mistake, but he was thankful Tal and Rosa weren't present to overhear.

Braden's eyebrows shot up into his forehead. "Truly? Not even a spark?"

"Winter magic was my affinity," Solas informed him. "But, no. I…" He shook his head, unable o meet the other man's gaze, as if he'd done something shameful. Lacking magic was not something to be ashamed of in this shadow world of Tranquil, and yet the attitudes of Elvhenan and the memory of what he'd been resounded within him and made the discussion agony. His chest constricted, tight with something akin to grief. What if he never recovered?

"Not even a barrier?" Braden asked, the note of shock impossible to miss.

Now Solas did manage to shoot the other man a glare. What part of _NO_ did he not understand?

"Apologies," Braden said sheepishly. "I'm just…surprised. I have never heard of such a thing. Mana burnout is common of course, but you have been here recuperating for about a week now. I should think mana burnout would have resolved at this point."

"I have experienced mana burnout before," Solas told him with a shake of his head. "This is not it."

"The current theory the Templars have is that the artifact you were found with was what did this to you," Braden said, his look grave. "Does that sound feasible to you? You said you are a scholar of such relics…?"

"I am, yes," Solas said, forging a swift lie in the hopes that Braden and the Templars would include him in any research they conducted on the foci—if only so that he'd know where they kept it. "I have spent most of my life wandering the wilderness in search of forgotten ruins, much like the one I was found near. My specialty is Elvhen ruins in particular."

Braden made a humming noise in the back of his throat, considering. After a time of silence he sighed and said, "I'd like to examine the artifact myself with several of the senior enchanters, but if it can cause this level of harm…"

Unable to let the opportunity pass, Solas said, "If you should examine it, I would be delighted to lend whatever assistance I can. I have forded into many ruins in my time and I can read ancient elven to a certain degree." That certain degree was at a master level, of course, but Braden couldn't know that.

The First Enchanter nodded. "It's locked away in storage now, but if Knight-Commander Kali feels it suitable, I will summon you for your help, certainly. We'd appreciate whatever help you can provide." He drummed his fingers on his desk and was silent a beat before saying, "Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you Revas, but for now, until you recover your magic, I think it best if you rest and recuperate in the apprentice quarter. Ser Bartholomew? Please escort him there."

_______________________________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Rosa's hands started wringing and fidgeting in front of herself. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just…" She cut herself off with a grimace. "I did not expect a…city elf to know anything of spirits or demons. My clan was more familiar with them than most."

_Unusual indeed,_ he thought but said nothing. Why did she care what he knew of demons or spirits, anyway?

"How would my knowledge of such things be at all beneficial in our escape?" he asked her pointedly, gesturing to the window. "Other than summoning wisps, perhaps. But if you are hoping that I may assist you by summoning demons or participating in blood magic I—"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, nothing like that." Her cheeks were abruptly red. "I just wanted…I hoped you…can you…" She heaved out a long breath, her shoulders sagging. Slowly, she shook her head. "Forget it."


	4. Back To School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm listening, Slow Arrow," said the demon. "What could you possibly do that you and I have not seen a hundred times before while the sweaty mortals lusted and grappled and bled their lives away?"—Imshael (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas meets Rosa in the Fade again and begins to suspect there's something strange about her. Then the Circle assesses its newest apprentices.

She entered his dream again that night. Luck seemed to be both for and against Solas, as his dream tonight wasn't of Elvhenan, but of the room with the tubs. He relived again the moment his aching, skeletal body slid into the hot water and it caressed him with the tender, gentle touch of a lover. Spirits had adopted the forms of Templars and Tranquil, glittering in their armor and clearly made to resemble Jeremy, Bartholomew, and Curtis. Tal was present as well, splashing like a child in the tub in the center of the room.

When Solas felt her presence as a weight in his mind, he tensed and hunched forward in the tub, his skin burning with something other than the heat of the bath. The dream had of course rendered him naked and that was the _last_ way he wanted to encounter Rosa—or anyone, really.

Closing his eyes and reaching outward, Solas willed the Fade to change, to connect with his inner core. He felt an echo of that connection and his heart hammered, leaping with joy and relief, but the Fade remained unchanged. Yet, with deep concentration and his huge effort, Solas managed to conjure himself clothing. Now he sat in the tub wearing the enchanter robes he'd dressed in after the bath. They were soaking wet and heavy as he stood up and gazed round the room, searching for Rosa.

He found her leaning against the doorway behind him, observing him, arms crossed over her chest. "You're getting better," she said, grinning. "You changed something. Excellent."

"Yes," Solas muttered with a huff. "How reassuring that I have earned your approval."

"Too proud to ask for help, Revas?" she asked, pushing off the doorway. "I could have conjured you clothes."

"Hardly," he grumbled. He remained standing in the tub, water dripping from his robes as Rosa strolled deeper into the room, weaving around the tubs.

Near Tal's tub she raised a hand, wrinkling her nose as she willed the spirit representing Tal to don clothing. "Really, Tal, no one wants to see that," she said, smirking.

The spirit beamed at her and waggled his eyebrows. "You sure?" it asked in a perfect rendition of Tal's voice.

Rosa snorted. "Good job, _elgar_. You've captured him perfectly."

Staring between the spirit rendition of Tal and Rosa, Solas narrowed his eyes as he caught the small similarities between the siblings. Tal had black, curly hair, cropped close. His eyes were darker than Rosa's, but there was something similar in the shape of their cheekbones and lips. Tal had a longer face and skin nearly as pale as Solas, giving him a distinctly elven appearance despite his obvious youthfulness. Rosa, however, had a more oval face, a neat nose, and olive skin to match her brown hair. In the dreaming she had it tucked up into the knots and braids Solas had seen her wearing when the Templars first dragged her to her cell. 

"Your brother has more sense than you do," he scolded, intending to warn her against her willful defiance around the Templars, but Rosa's head whipped around to glare at him, her eyes narrowed and full of dark alarm.

"Who says Tal is my brother?" she asked, her lips parting in a hard, humorless smile. She gestured to spirit-Tal and said, "We look nothing alike and we are from different clans. How could he _possibly_ be my brother, flat-ear?"

Forcing himself not to grimace as he stepped out of the tub, his robes clinging to him and dripping in a wet mess, Solas regarded her as impassively as he could. Internally, however, he cursed himself for such a slip. His only evidence for their familial relationship was that they had called one another _brother_ and _sister_ in elven. He weighed the prospect of lying to her to preserve that secret knowledge before dismissing it. What harm could it do if she knew he understood at least _some_ elven?

"It is not merely the Dalish who remember our language," Solas told her gruffly. "I may be a _flat-ear_ as you contend, but I am no fool." He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her in challenge. "If you truly mean to aid me in escaping and expect me to do the same for you both, you're going to have to trust me."

She watched him in silence for a time, as did spirit-Tal before it lost interest and began splashing playfully in its tub. The spirits wearing Jeremy and Bartholomew's shapes guffawed and gestured mockingly toward Tal and then Solas, no doubt miming how the dreamers expected the Templars to act in reality.

Finally Rosa nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. "Sorry, flat-ear. I should have suspected as much." The edge of her mouth twitched up and then down again and, oddly, Solas recognized the little motion. He'd seen it before, somewhere, and knew it to be a tell. A suspicion churned in his gut: Rosa _had_ already guessed he knew elven.

His heart hammered on his breastbone. _Be cautious,_ he warned himself. Mythal had spent centuries manipulating him when he served as her general and he had never quite gotten the better of her. Comparing Mythal and Rosa made him feel queasy as one woman was _real_ and had served as a maternal figure and mentor to him, while the other was….a pretentious shem-elf who seemed bent on vexing and irritating him in equal measures.

"Now," Rosa said, grinning. "What was it you were going to say before? That Tal has better sense than me?" She indicated the spirit-Tal, still chasing bubbles with both hands in the tub with the single-mindedness of a child at play. "You're right, of course. Though not _this_ Tal, obviously. _Elgar_ , please, you're making a real mockery of him." She wafted a hand through the spirit's head, but it ignored her, still focused on the water.

"You cannot keep antagonizing the Templars," Solas chided, tucking his hands behind his back in a loose fist. "You will only get yourself killed or provoke them into making you Tranquil."

"You think I don't know that?" she retorted, hissing the words quietly. Her eyes were locked on the floor off to Solas' far right. An angry little crease formed between her brows.

Scowling, Solas said, "If you already understand this, then why have you continued to act as you do?"

The look of anger warped into something that was both frustration and…was it fear? Then she shook her head, adopting a coy smile instead. "Maybe I like the danger? Maybe I'm protecting Tal? Or you? The more they focus on me being a problem, the less they look at the both of you."

Solas scoffed. "If any of that is true than you are a greater fool than I initially believed."

She laughed, a genuine sound that stirred something inside Solas with a fluttery sensation. He quashed it, refusing to consider it in favor of the irritation still coiling inside him. Didn't this foolish Dalish woman understand _anything?_

"I hardly see anything amusing in this," Solas snapped, motioning at the room full of tubs and Templars around them. "The more trouble you cause our captors, the more likely they are to make you suffer. You will not protect your brother this way. More likely, you will only attract attention to the fact that he so obviously cares for you. He will leap to your defense and their solution will be to remove him, or you, from the tower when his behavior reveals he has too great an attachment to you."

Rosa had sobered. She shook her head, snarling to herself. "Fucking shemlen bastards. The Dread Wolf take the lot of them."

Ignoring her curse using _his_ name, Solas pressed on, "Surely you can see that is the way events will play out unless you improve your behavior. Swallow your pride, _da'len,_ and follow Tal's example."

Still staring at the floor, Rosa answered through gnashed teeth, as if the words caused her pain. "I…will try." Her stance, shoulders squared and body stiff, hinted at tension within. The Fade seemed to darken around her, shadows coalescing.

The sense of Rosa, of another Dreamer in the Fade, had intensified inside Solas' mind as well. It was as if she'd grown more powerful, her consciousness heavier. Solas stared at her, cocking his head to one side as he examined her with a furrowed brow, contemplating.

Spirit-Tal in the tub stopped playing and twisted to stare at her. He reached out and laid a hand on her forearm in a little gesture of comfort. When he spoke there was a placating, pleading tone to his voice. "Calm, _asamalin_. Calm…"

"Yes," she agreed in a low voice and seemed to shake herself, rolling her shoulders in their sockets and lifting her gaze to meet Solas'. "Tal and I must escape from this place as soon as possible. We'll try to take you with us when we go, but you're so weak…" She broke off, sighing as real sadness washed over her features.

"I understand," Solas told her with a nod, keeping his voice and expression deadpan. He could hardly fault her and her brother for trying to save themselves if the opportunity arose. But all the same… "However, I would be grateful for any assistance you can give."

"Same here," Rosa said with a shrug. She tapped the edge of spirit-Tal's tub and then started walking slowly toward Solas, one corner of her lips curling up in a smile. "So," she started, stretching her arms wide to indicate the Fade dreamscape around them. "On that note, any ideas? I mean, other than me playing the demure Dalish damsel to the Templar thugs, of course."

Solas shot her an irritated look, unhappy with how she'd made light of his warning that she temper her defiance. Pushing that aside, he thrust out his chin slightly as he said, "How familiar are you with the growing dissent within the Circles?"

Rosa laughed, cocking her hip out to one side as she moved to stand a few paces shy of him. She wore her Keeper armor in this dreamscape, despite it being taken from her in reality. Solas swept his eyes over her for a fraction of a second before returning his focus to her face and feeling that same fluttering _something_ with a spurt of panic. How could he be so easily distracted? _Shem-elf,_ he reminded himself. _Shadow world._

"Considering Tal and I have been wandering the wilderness of Thedas for nearly two years?" She grinned at him. "How much do _you_ think we know about shemlen affairs?"

_Good,_ Solas thought. The less she and Tal knew, the more they'd need to rely on his knowledge. Aloud he said, "Nothing, I suspect. Or very little." Pausing a beat, his brow knit as he considered Rosa's admission. "You and Tal have been clan-less for nearly two years?" He kept his eyes glued to her face, refusing to give in to the temptation to examine her body again—for assessing her _age,_ he told himself, nothing _else._

Of course, considering he'd never seen a natural aging process in the waking world, Solas suspected he'd never be able to judge accurately. Only in dreams could he see elves or shemlen age, and only then if he revisited the same sleeper's mind multiple times throughout their life. And even then he had to consider the possibility that the sleeper's mind, and the Fade through it, could be warping appearances in the dream.

Her hands went to her hips. "Off topic, flat-ear," she chastened him with a cluck of her tongue, though her eyes were bright and playful. And… _real._ Perhaps it was because she was a Dreamer?

Pushing his thoughts aside, Solas frowned, feigning more annoyance at her comment than he actually felt as he returned to the subject at hand. "Not long ago, a possessed apostate destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and incited rebellion there." At this description Rosa arched a brow but didn't interrupt. "As such, a few other Circles have also rebelled—or so I have gathered here and there." Pointing behind her to indicate the spirit-Bartholomew, Solas said, "My adoring keeper has mentioned minimizing sour relations with the mages several times. You may have noticed."

"Your adoring keeper," Rosa repeated, chuckling as she turned to look. "The ginger. Yes." Rounding to face Solas again, Rosa grinned. "How _do_ his boots taste, by the way? Is it iron or silverite in his armor, do you think?"

Solas scoffed, just barely managing not to roll his eyes at her playful taunt. "Off-topic, _da'len,_ " he told her, imitating her tone and cadence of speech to be sure she understood he mocked her…although lightheartedly.

She laughed, flashing her teeth in a bright smile as she pivoted and stalked toward the two spirit-Templars, her stride confident and authoritative. "You're right that I _have_ heard Ser Ginger jabbering about keeping the mages civil." Glancing at him over her shoulder, she asked, "So the Templars are seeing the mages with more fear these days?"

"And the mages in turn have grown bold and begun to push back at their captors." Solas took a few steps forward, grimacing at the dampness of his robes. Trying to concentrate on Rosa and their discussion while also testing his tenuous grip on the Fade, Solas willed the moisture from himself. This was the Fade, after all, there was no reason for him to feel wet. No reason for him to wear the enchanter's robes he'd fallen asleep in. He _should_ be able to will himself into any clothing, any form he wished.

Still gazing at him over her shoulder, Rosa's eyes glittered with eagerness. "And we can take advantage of that." She eyed him, her hands twitching at her sides and her lips parting suddenly as if surprised. "What are you…" Trailing off, she shook her head as if dizzy.

The spirits in their various guises had stopped going about their playacting and now watched Solas. Their shapes flickered, growing momentarily translucent.

Drawn from his reverie trying to reshape his own likeness in the Fade, Solas gave up and shot her a puzzled look as he registered the strange fluctuation around them. "Is something the matter?"

Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. "How powerful were you?"

The question sent a chill through him, icing his blood. "No more than you," he lied, as nonchalant as he could manage. Then, with feigned confusion but real suspicion, he asked, "Why do you ask?"

She gave a sharp shake of her head. "Just curious, flat-ear." Grinning at him, she changed the subject as she asked, "Your specialty is tomb raiding and scavenging Elvhen ruins then?"

"Yes," Solas lied, nodding. "Though I fail to see how my expertise in that area will aid in mutual escape."

Ignoring his comment, Rosa strolled past the spirit-Templars, one arm extended to waft through them. Their shapes flickered, like candles nearly extinguished by a harsh wind. "You've never run into a foci before?"

"You said such things were rare or lost to Tevinter," Solas reminded her, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness. "So, how much do _you_ think I know about such relics?" he challenged her, watching intently to observe her reaction. The way she reminded him just slightly of Mythal had him tense and on guard, expecting manipulation.

Confirming his fears, Rosa shot him a coy smile. "More than you let on."

"You'd be wrong," Solas snapped, hoping to convince her with conviction borne of irritation. "I had heard of such things, but only in passing." He motioned at his body, though here in the Fade he was far more robust than in reality. "If I understood the danger of what was in that tomb, do you truly believe I would be so foolish as to ford into it? I can barely walk, _da'len._ You have no idea what agony I have suffered since I handled it." His cheeks were hot with humiliation at his own weakness, no need to feign _that_.

Her coy smile didn't change. Her eyes—were they brown? Violet?—twinkled with amusement. " _Ir abelas_ …flat-ear."

Ignoring her bait, Solas crossed his arms over his chest and let out a huffing breath as he asked, "I presume you intend to go after the artifact during your escape? Does such a diversion seem wise?" His heart thundered in his ears when he thought of Rosa and Tal trying to escape without him and snatching the foci for themselves in some ill-advised quest to reclaim it for the elven people.

…The _Dalish_ elven people.

It belonged with _him,_ with the _Elvhen._ Not these shem-elves.

The coy smile remained in place. She took a breath inward. "We shall see when the time comes. If it's a choice between escaping with our lives or leaving the foci here? I would leave it. I have no intention of dying for it…" She seemed to shudder then, turning away from him as she added, "I hope."

_Hope?_ He frowned in bafflement at that comment. "Excuse me?" he asked, shaking his head.

She had started walking toward the windows along the far wall and tossed an explanation over her shoulder without looking at him. "I hope we can escape and take it with us. That's what I meant."

Somehow, Solas found he didn't believe her.

Striding after her, Solas took up a position at her side, staring at the opaque window, covered in a thick coating of condensation from the humidity in the tub-filled room. "It may take a long time to foster enough dissent in the tower that we can instigate open rebellion," he murmured, speaking more to himself than to Rosa. "It may be months, in fact."

She nodded, her attitude and demeanor abruptly somber. "Plenty of time for you to recover your strength." Her lips pinched into a hard line and then she twisted to stare at him, asking, "What knowledge do you have regarding spirits and demons?"

Taken aback and wary, Solas kept staring out the window; trying to remember what little he could of the landscape he'd caught brief glimpses of while the Templars carried him to the tower. Green, verdant forests and lush grass, all of it fertile with summertime growth. He longed to smell the rich scent of cedar trees and pollen. The memory of it now kept his heart from racing overmuch as he decided to answer with more truth than deception. "A great deal."

He heard her slight gasp and then—unexpectedly—she reached out and grabbed his arm. Solas tensed, stiffening and pivoting to withdraw from her a step, frowning at the closeness. Had he miscalculated? Rosa moved with him, as if she hadn't noticed his alarm, and when Solas' gaze leapt to her face he saw her eyes were wide and her lips parted in a broad, genuine smile.

"Truly?" she asked. Her hands on his arm squeezed. Solas felt the warmth through his sleeve. It seemed to race straight to his cheeks, heating up his scalp and ear tips with it.

"Truly," he confirmed and this time withdrew from her more forcefully.

Rosa's gaze flicked over him and then searched his face as she seemed to recoil. Her hands started wringing and fidgeting in front of herself. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just…" She cut herself off with a grimace. "I did not expect a…city elf to know anything of spirits or demons. My clan was more familiar with them than most."

_Unusual indeed,_ he thought but said nothing. Why did she care what he knew of demons or spirits, anyway?

"How would my knowledge of such things be at all beneficial in our escape?" he asked her pointedly, gesturing to the window. "Other than summoning wisps, perhaps. But if you are hoping that I may assist you by summoning demons or participating in blood magic I—"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, nothing like that." Her cheeks were abruptly red. "I just wanted…I hoped you…can you…"

Solas arched a brow, losing patience with her uncharacteristic, nervous spluttering. "Speak plainly, _da'len_. What do you wish to know?" He'd never been able to shut down anyone who searched for deeper understanding or knowledge, regardless of whether it was inane, arcane, or extravagant in his estimation. Even if he might consider it a bit of a timewaster as in this case.

She heaved out a long breath, her shoulders sagging. Slowly, she shook her head. "Forget it."

Irked at her dismissal of the inquiry, Solas frowned, but decided to let the topic drop. Whatever it was. "All right," he said with a nod. "But I hope you have no intention of summoning demons or conducting blood magic yourself…?" He let the question hang, hoping to lure a solid answer out of her.

She wrinkled her nose as if repulsed. "I said my clan was knowledgeable with spirits and demons. I didn't say anything about blood magic or summoning the damned things out of the Fade to fight." Her features warped with anger. "What kind of fool do you take me for, flat-ear?"

"I honestly can't say," Solas replied curtly. "As I barely know you." And yet, he couldn't help but notice she hadn't denied that as an option...

"Then that makes two of us," Rosa returned.

____________________________________________

The next day, aching and sore from his extended and grueling walk about the tower, Solas found himself seated in a wooden bench along the stone wall of what was apparently a practice hall for mages. A half dozen others were seated along the walls on additional benches, watching as first Tal and then Rosa took turns being scrutinized by the Circle's enchanters. They stood on a small platform, surrounded by lyrium runes that would absorb and negate magic, allowing the mage within the circle to demonstrate spells such as fireballs without risking hurting anyone or setting something afire.

Tal seemed to be quite talented, with an affinity for fire. Though the enchanters were conservative in their reactions and any praise, Solas didn't miss the way their eyes widened when the youth shot each rune in the circle around him with an immolation fireball in rapid succession, as if testing the boundaries and limitations of the marks. Solas suspected that was _exactly_ what he was doing. Just as the enchanters were assessing their Dalish "apprentices," so too were the Dalish mages testing the mettle of their captors and "peers" within the Circle. How strong were their runes, enchantments, and wards? Could they be overwhelmed with a big enough fireball or a strong enough chain lightning spell?

Tal had no luck breaking the Circle enchanters' runes, however. But his show of fireballs _did_ reveal how deep his mana reserves must be. There were eight runes in total to complete the circle of protection, each flaring as the fireballs Tal cast tested them. For a mage to strike all of them with enormous fireballs so quickly, one right after another…

Solas had seen far more impressive stunts in Elvhenan, of course, but watching the enchanters' wide eyes and slightly parted lips as they tried to cover their surprise revealed this was far more power than they'd expected to see. Solas sat forward on his bench, slumped to rest his elbows on his knees to try and ease the awful burn and ache of his back muscles, and kept one hand over his lips to hide his own quiet amusement.

When it was Rosa's turn she led with a different affinity: storm magic. She spun the simple wooden stave they'd provided her for this exhibition with practiced efficiency. Purple-white energy crackled, flashing as it lit up the room. Solas felt the familiar tingle of magic over his skin and shut his eyes with longing. His chest ached; tight with emotion as he worried he might never again feel his own magic stir.

When he'd put up the Veil, trapping the Evanuris in the Fade inside the Black City- _Anor'Venuralas,_ as it was known to the Elvhen—Solas had almost been imprisoned there with them. It was only the Anchor he wore on his right hand that had saved him, letting him tear his way through the Veil and fall from the Fade. But he'd been near-death, so weak he had virtually no memory of those final moments. He recalled his closest friends and advisors rushing to him, kneeling to grasp him, to try and shake him awake. They must have been stunned themselves by the newly formed Veil, which strangled all mana regeneration by sundering them from the Fade. Yet, somehow, Felassan had managed to remove the Anchor from him, returning it to his foci, and arranged for him to be carried to safety. He had no memory of them creating his uthenera tomb, and only learned where his body had been laid to rest many years later when Felassan and others joined him in the dreaming.

He'd initially wondered if it was the combination of the Veil and the long uthenera that'd left him so devastated, but now he suspected it'd been physically erecting the Veil that'd weakened him so. A few of his other agents had recovered after uthenera or woken with minimal effects other than the smothering presence of the Veil. Solas could only hope his own magic and body would gradually adjust and recover.

He felt his eyes sting as he wondered if he would ever see Felassan again. Would he ever be able to shape the Fade once more, or would Felassan and Solas' other allies currently awake in this shadow realm be left confused and adrift, with no idea what had become of their leader?

He was the last Evanuris, the only one who could tear down the Veil and smite the weakened false gods. He was also the only one who could reshape the world in the chaos to follow.

And here he was, aching and weak and squandering his time in the Hasmal Circle. And, as if that weren't bad enough, he was unable to conjure even a spark or shape the Fade.

The sharp clattering noise of Rosa's magic drew him out of his reverie as he saw her casting at a stone dummy outside the circle. He expected it to be winter magic, but instead he saw she'd summoned greenish stone directly from the Fade at the end of her staff and then hurled it in a violent thrust at the dummy. Solas flinched with surprise when it shattered the stone figure. Bits of glittering green stone flew about the room everywhere, bright and beautiful.

The enchanters gasped and Braden shot to his feet. "Stand down!"

Rosa stared at him, brow furrowing. "What? Why?"

Braden glared at her as he gestured toward the cracked stone figure, spluttering. Finally, as it became clear Rosa was apparently _confused_ and not trying to attack them, he said, "Please refrain from spells that will destroy Circle property."

Rosa slammed the butt of her staff down. Lightning crackled at it, flicking in sharp white lines from her fingers. She shook her hand out. "You cannot be serious. What's your problem? Have you never seen that spell?"

"Bigger spells are strictly for use in the larger space of the auditorium," another enchanter explained condescendingly. Under her breath she added, "That should be obvious."

Others muttered "Savage," under their breath.

Still, Solas couldn't help but notice they hadn't exactly answered Rosa's question. Now he was wondering the same thing. Had they never seen that spell? He stifled his own surprise at seeing Rosa use the spell. Even knowing he'd been wrong about her and this shadow world before, he hadn't expected that particular spell to have survived post-Veil. Seeing Rosa use it made him _assume_ it wasn't as rare as he'd thought, but perhaps this was another way Rosa broke the mold.

On the platform, Rosa wrinkled her nose with disgust. "You put me up here like I'm a halla you want to trade and ask me to show you what I can do—and now you're _upset_ with me for doing what you asked?"

"This is a test of your basic abilities," Braden explained with a note of exasperation. "I will not put you up there and ask that you show me you can hold onto a static cage for ten minutes or sustain a blizzard for an hour." He made a sort of shoving motion with his hands, emphasizing his frustration with her perceived stupidity. Or was it to cover his intimidation when confronted with an unfamiliar and powerful spell from a woman he considered inferior?

Rosa sneered at him. "Maybe you're not aware of this, shemlen, but this is my first time being in one of your Chantry's Circles. I'm a little hazy on the rules."

"Your companion certainly seemed to grasp them," another enchanter bit out sarcastically.

Rosa's glare transferred to this other man, her eyes fiery. "That is because Tal is being modest. I don't do modest. My name in elven means _to stand tall."_ She squared her shoulders and flipped the stave almost idly, as if considering calling more chain lightning. "You asked to see what I can do, so I showed you. I didn't hold back. If you wanted me to, you should have said so."

The strange, weighty sensation had begun pressing into the back of Solas' mind again, just as it had during the dream the night before when Rosa had grown broody at his reprimand regarding her defiance. He sat upright on the bench, grimacing against the pain from his muscles as a niggling, half-formed thought dug into his mind like a splinter. There was something… _odd_ about Rosa…something _more…_

Solas' gaze found Tal sitting on the benches lining the adjacent wall. The young Dalish man was biting the tips of his fingers, his eyes darting back and forth between Braden and his sister. His leg bounced up and down in a nervous tic. Solas expected that at any moment the young man would leap to her defense…again.

But then: "Very well," Braden said snappishly. "I will be precise from now on." He motioned to the shattered stone figure. "Fire mine it."

"With pleasure," Rosa told him, grinning wide and hard. With a wave of her hand a fire mine appeared beneath the broken stone. Clenching her fist, Rosa set it off with a slight rumble and a flash of orange-red flames. Without being asked, Rosa motioned with her other hand and swiftly froze the flames with winter's grasp.

"Barrier," Braden called out next and Rosa complied at once. Her skin was flushed with the exertion of casting, her eyes bright with fierce joy. The circle of protection kept her movement fairly minimal, but her feet were nimble as she spun and slid with grace. None of the enchanters had apparently cared that she'd forgotten to wear shoes. She moved with the confidence of a mage who'd seen combat and knew that her body work was as important as her magic.

Solas had never envied another person for his or her magic before. He'd always been so powerful that envying another's magic was simply not possible. Yet now, in this post-Veil world as little better than a Tranquil, he found his stomach roiling with that unpleasant sensation: envy. He longed to feel magic caressing its way through him, to feel the joy of seeing his will made manifest. Even just being able to spin and move physically like Rosa and Tal would be rewarding.

_I'll recover,_ he vowed yet again. _I have to._

_________________________________________________

After the enchanters had assessed Tal and Rosa, Braden assigned all three new "apprentices" to be evaluated as far as their level of education next. The enchanter accompanying them was an elderly elven man who introduced himself as Parahel. He was soft spoken and stooped at the shoulder, his skin worn and wrinkled. Like Solas he had a bald scalp, but Solas could see pale stubble against the other man's pate that revealed he chose to be that way.

An unfamiliar female Templar acted as escort, stiff in her armor and aloof as she followed her charges. The going was slow as the group had to move at a pace limited not by the elderly Parahel, but Solas, to his shame. With his cheeks aflame with humiliation, Solas struggled to keep up with the elderly enchanter, but every step was an agony as they descended stairs and walked through long, rounded hallways lined with small classrooms.

Parahel chose one at length, ushering them inside. His brown eyes lingered on Solas, crinkled with sympathy. "Will you make it, _da'len?_ " he asked in a voice made gruff with age.

_Da'len,_ Solas thought and would have laughed if not for the distraction of pain through his legs and back. He used one palm to prop himself up with his skin scuffing along the stone wall of the corridor as he shuffled. Sweat beaded along his temples and forehead, as well as down his back. He tried to answer the old man but could only puff out a weak, "Yes."

Parahel's gaze shifted to the Templar woman trudging a few paces behind Solas. His eyebrows shot up, wrinkling his forehead. "Ser Laura?" he asked in his reedy voice. "Could you perchance lend this poor man your arm?"

With a little annoyed huff, Ser Laura strode abruptly forward and snatched Solas by the arm. Her grip through the metal of her armor was bone bruising in intensity and Solas hissed with pain through his teeth. Biting back any complaints, Solas let himself be half-walked, half-dragged inside the classroom.

Red-faced and doused with sweat, Solas saw both Tal and Rosa seated in the first row of small desks, staring at him. Tal's expression pinched with sympathy and he looked away, as if trying to minimize Solas' humiliation. But Rosa's face bloomed abruptly red and she shot up from her desk and stalked to intercept them. "You're hurting him," she protested to the Templar.

"Sit down," Ser Laura growled irritably.

"Let me help," Rosa countered, reaching out as if she hoped to pry Ser Laura's armored hand from Solas' forearm.

"Sit down," Laura repeated, snarling.

Solas' head swam as he struggled to catch his breath. This would be so much _easier_ if no one paid him any mind. He didn't have the strength or the breath to pull away from Laura to reject her help in favor of Rosa. Even if he had possessed the energy to do it, he wasn't certain it was the wisest choice. Although he suspected Rosa might handle him with a gentler grip, he didn't much care at this point and he didn't want to be associated with her willful defiance.

Rosa refused to back down, but she did give way as Ser Laura deposited Solas to the next closest desk. Solas sank into it and slumped with exhaustion, shaking from the pain of his wizened muscles being overused. Resting his elbows on the desk, he hung his head and tried to catch his breath, waiting out the pain.

Ser Laura started to walk from the room, glowering at Rosa as the Dalish mage darted to stoop beside Solas' desk. He felt her hands on his shoulders and would have flinched away if he had the strength and presence of mind—but void take him, he had none. A heartbeat later he shivered as the cool brush of healing spirit magic washed through him. Before he could stop it, a groan wrenched its way from his throat.

"Hey," Laura barked from the doorway. "Knock it off." Solas couldn't see her, but he could guess from the warning note in her voice that she had her hand on her sword hilt, ready to draw it and cut Rosa down.

"It's healing magic," Tal protested plaintively. "She's trying to help him."

Rosa, for her part, ignored the Templar's warning. Her hands were still on him, the magic continued to flow. Solas shook with relief as the pain faded. Shamelessly, he leaned into her touch, absorbing the caress of magic like a starving man would inhale the scent of cooking food. _"Ma serannas,"_ he thanked her, biting back another groan of relief.

Laura grunted, apparently willing to let this affront slide. Her footsteps thumped over the floor as she left the room to stand guard outside it.

Parahel's softer tread followed, his robes rustling. "Tell me," he said, ignoring the ongoing healing magic. "Are any of you literate?"

"Rosa and I are," Tal answered brightly. "In the trade tongue and elven."

Solas barely registered the young elven man's words through the haze of healing magic enveloping him—but Rosa reacted. She stopped casting, her hands pulling from Solas as she whipped around and spoke to Tal in a scolding voice, using elven. _"Elgar'nan take your wagging tongue, brother! You can't tell these people everything about us. Pretend to be a dunce. We'll learn more that way."_

Now Solas held his breath, his heart hammering with more than just the lingering effects of the excruciating walk to this classroom. Rosa's comment had been the sort of thing _he_ might use to reprimand Felassan or some of his other agents from revealing too much, minus the reference to Elgar'nan.

Watching Tal's reaction covertly without lifting his head, Solas saw the young man wince. _"Ir abelas,"_ he murmured.

It wasn't common for the Dalish to read and write elven—or to read or write in the human's trade language either, for that matter. Rosa had said her clan had some familiarity with spirits and demons as well, yet another oddity. He made a note again in the back of his mind to remember their birth clans: Naseral for Rosa and Ghilath for Tal.

"What's this now?" Parahel asked, frowning.

"Nothing, _hahren,_ " Tal replied with a sheepish look. "Rosa is just…"

"I was telling him that elven is a dead language," Rosa covered quickly. "I doubt we will have occasion at all to study it…?" The lilt in her voice suggested her desire for an answer, as did the way her eyebrows leapt into her forehead.

Parahel smacked his lips, pursing them as he hummed in the back of his throat. "We do on occasion study written elven," he admitted. "At least as it applies to magical items, enchantments runes, and spells, usually in fragments at best. I'd be interested to see what wisdom the Dalish may have collected on the subject."

"Thank you," Rosa said as she plopped into her original seat. Solas didn't miss the glare she shot at her brother, the silent warning to bite his tongue.

"And what about you, _da'len?_ " Parahel asked, turning his gaze on Solas with an expectant look.

Mind still hazy with pain and distracted by both the intriguing hint of secrets in the air and the pleasantness of Rosa's healing magic, Solas blinked stupidly for a beat at the old elf. He had to make the same calculation Rosa and Tal had been faced with: how much should he reveal of himself? Licking his lips and swallowing to wet his throat, Solas opted to be honest. Partially, anyway.

"I can read the common tongue," he said. "But my penmanship may be somewhat lacking." In truth, he'd _never_ had to write in the shemlen tongue before. As with almost everything else he knew about this shadow-world, Solas had learned in the dreaming by taking knowledge from sleepers or conversing with them. In the Fade he'd never had to write in _any_ language…

Parahel nodded. "Better than most of my pupils, as I expected." He lifted a hand, index finger raised as if interrupting some invisible speaker. "But there is often a great distance between what one _claims_ to know and what one can actually _demonstrate._ Pride is an evil thing, as the Chant teaches us. It is our enemy in the classroom as it closes minds and stills questioning tongues."

_Pride is an evil thing._ The words reverberated through Solas' skull and he pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the desire to sigh with annoyance. Good thing his name wasn't _Pride_ right now.

Parahel turned and shuffled toward the front of the classroom where a desk waited with a pile of parchments dyed in a gray color. Collecting the rolls under his arm with one hand and then scooping up three sets of quills and inkbottles, Parahel returned to the desks and passed each of his new apprentices one parchment roll, a quill, and an inkbottle. "Tal, you'll be first," he announced. "Please write out the sentence, _Hello, my name is Tal."_

Solas fought to keep the scowl off his face as he found himself looking down at the crude instruments of this age. In Elvhenan he'd used ink drawn directly from the magic of the Fade so that with a casual wave of his hand he could erase it. He'd been able to write directly into the wood or stone of his desks using a finger, or even just his _thoughts_ , enchanting the words as he went to ensure the reader received the correct meaning and emotion from them. He could will the words to light up when they felt a reader's eyes on them, or infuse it with his actual memories. How did these shemlen or the shem-elves manage _anything_ in this Tranquil world with so little magic and so short a time?

"Revas," Parahel said, drawing Solas from his reverie. He winced as he lifted his eyes to meet Parahel's. The old man motioned at the desk in front of him. "Please prepare your parchment and ink. Your sentence will be, _I live in the Hasmal Circle._ Do you understand?"

"Yes," Solas replied and, slowly, unrolled the parchment to do as the old man commanded. A quick sidelong gaze revealed Tal had finished his assignment and Rosa was just completing hers. Concentrating on his own work, Solas' brow knit as he imagined the common language words in his mind, reaching back to his distant memories of first learning the tongue in the Fade centuries ago. He took the quill in hand, finding it clumsy, and dipped it into the ink, but as he placed the tip to the parchment and began to write, his traitorous wrist shook. The ink dribbled and blurred the shaky characters together. Redoubling his efforts, and red-faced with shame at how long it took him, Solas completed the phrase. Unfortunately it was barely legible…

Parahel walked by Tal's desk, nodding with approval. To Rosa he hummed, leaning toward her and pointing at some of her letters. "This is crooked. Your stroke here is too close to this letter."

Rosa dipped her quill in the ink and swiftly wrote out the phrase again. It took less than two breaths to complete. Solas felt his face flushing hot with frustration, knowing he would never be able to manage that in his current state. There was no sense in raging at his unfortunate situation, but Solas had always been a good student, eager to please and thrilled with learning. To not even be able to write out a simple sentence now was…

He cradled his head in his hands and waited for this mortifying charade to be finished.

________________________________________________

* * *

Elven used

Elgar: spirit

Author's note from original posting: Poor Solas ate a lot of humble pie this chapter...and all the chapters so far, really. My beta said he has "Fade-dysfunction." Yes, she made a boner-joke at the Dread Wolf's expense. Things will start getting better for him gradually, but not for a while.


	5. The Pendant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The templars are unruly beasts. They must be led to the water; they cannot be forced to drink. Until they do, we must protect ourselves."—Wynne (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> **Mild Templar vileness again.
> 
> Rosa has a close call with Ser Curtis. The Templars discover she has contraband and take it away. Solas continues to realize there really is something off about Rosa.

Because of his weakness, Solas found the enchanters and Templars were happy to allow him to sleep late and rest often. Rosa and Tal, however, quickly joined an assemblage of classes and completed a revolving list of chores with the Circle's other apprentices. As a result, Solas found himself rarely crossing paths with the Dalish siblings as he remained in the apprentice barracks.

Most of the other apprentices were children or teens, studying and preparing for their Harrowing. Typically they were quiet, wide-eyed and fearful of their Templar captors _and_ the senior enchanters. In Solas' estimation it seemed that fear of the senior enchanters was unmerited. The senior enchanters, although strict, had done nothing in Solas' view to inspire dread. The Templars, however, were another story.

Only two days after the assessment with Parahel, Solas was ambulating through the large dormitory hall lined with cots to strengthen his muscles when he heard a yelp from out in the hall followed by the splatter of water. With his joints aching and muscles straining to stand without shaking, Solas stared at the open doorway, frowning to himself as he debated whether he should investigate. Due to his weakness and ongoing recovery, he was often left alone to "exercise" or rest. Enchanters checked in on the dorm occasionally, but typically had little interest in him. His most frequent guests during the day were apprentices shuffling in to do their chores, or Templars scanning for illicit activity or contraband.

Then, into the silence, Solas heard a gruff male voice say, "Watch where you're going, gutter trash."

A moment later he heard a small, androgynous voice answer, "Sorry, Ser Jeremy."

A slapping sound followed and more clattering came over the floor, making Solas wince as he wondered what else had fallen. "You clumsy little shit," Jeremy said, laughing meanly. "You'll watch where you're going next time, won't you?"

"Yes, ser," the apprentice replied, voice warbling.

The thump of Templar boots retreated down the hall and Solas remembered to breathe again. Despite the quaking in his body and the ache of his muscles, he strode for the door in as even and quick a pace as he could manage. Outside in the dingy hall he saw a young apprentice no older than twelve had knelt down and was gingerly grabbing at a wooden bucket, sponge, and numerous dirty rags that lay scattered over the floor.

Swallowing against the pain still wracking him, Solas went to help the boy, but the apprentice reacted with horror. He sniffled, trying to hide his face and keeping his eyes averted as he pleaded with Solas to leave him to clean up the mess alone. "Was my fault, ser. I'm clumsy, like he said."

"Are you clumsy or did he run into you?" Solas asked pointedly. When the boy shot him a quick look of abject horror that he quickly stifled, Solas had his answer. He sighed and leaned his wizened, weak body against the doorway. "Do not be so hasty to accept abuse hurled on you by others. You must never tear yourself down or you will be doing the work of your enemies for them."

"But…" the boy's brow furrowed, his eyes dark with fear. "Ser Jeremy isn't my enemy. He's here to protect me. From myself—and from you and everyone else with magic."

Solas stared at the boy, his blood boiling even as his stomach curdled with nausea to hear the poor boy's internalized self-hatred of his own gifts. Though the boy appeared human, there was a good chance he had elven blood in him. He had the gift, after all. Magic was the birthright of the People. And regardless, the boy was an innocent whose only crime was being born with magic in a world that despised it.

"Tell me something," he said quietly. "Do you remember your family? Did you have a family before you came into your magic and the Templars took you away?"

The boy blinked at him and suddenly tears flooded his eyes. Red-faced and ashamed, he bowed his head. "I miss them. I'm not s'post to talk about them…" He screwed up his face. "The Circle is my home now."

_Repeated like a mindless drone,_ Solas thought and felt his chest tighten with both anger and pity.

"Did your mother or your father treat you like Ser Jeremy?" Solas asked.

"No," the boy blubbered, clapping a hand over his mouth to hold back the sobs that clearly threatened to escape.

"But they protected you, did they not? _Da'len_ , Ser Jeremy is not a protector. He is a bully, a thug, and his ilk have trapped us here with a lie that we and our magic are dangerous and cannot control ourselves without them. Sometimes it is true that people with magic misuse it and hurt others, but when I look at you I do not see someone who intends to harm those around him." He eyed the boy, pausing a moment to let his words sink in. "Would you hurt your parents, _da'len?"_

The boy frowned. "No…" Wiping at his nose, he shook his head. "What does that thing mean that you keep saying? Dalen?"

Solas sighed, the pain of his prolonged standing, even leaning against the doorframe, had begun to catch up to him. His thighs quivered and his bones seemed to throb. It was time to rest, but he resisted, forcing himself to smile with encouragement at the boy. "It is an elven word. It means child. And no child should be treated cruelly the way Ser Jeremy just did with you. _He_ is the one who puts us in danger here, not you."

The boy stared at him, his face creased with confusion. "But the Chant says…"

_Void take the stupid Chant,_ Solas thought but pinched his lips together to keep from saying it. Instead he forced his voice to remain even and calm as he said, "The Chant does not say magic and the people who possess it are evil. The Chant merely warns against it being abused by bad men." _Or women,_ he amended internally, considering the likes of Andruil who'd enjoyed using it to maim and torture.

He finished by adding, "Magic is like any other tool or weapon. If you learn and respect it and use it responsibly there is no reason you should have been locked away in this tower. Do you understand, _da'len?_ "

Now the boy nodded solemnly, but his brow knit as his eyes narrowed. "The Templars wouldn't like hearing that."

Solas smirked. "No, you're right. They wouldn't. So, for now, keep it inside." Clenching his fist, Solas laid it over his chest to indicate the heart. "Remember the truth in here, where it will best serve you."

The next day, at roughly the same time, Solas heard Ser Jeremy browbeating and bullying a different apprentice. Once more, Solas went to the hall to render aid and reassurance. This time it was an older boy who shook with barely restrained rage as Solas tried to offer comfort, but the apprentice seemed deaf to it.

The younger boy struck Solas as the type who would be cowed by his captors and their warped interpretation of the Chant until he asked to be made Tranquil rather than endure his Harrowing. But the older boy, seething as he was, would endure through his Harrowing out of stubbornness and, if he survived, would be the type to turn to demons and blood magic to rebel. Both outcomes, for the timid and the rebellious, were tragic. The younger boy, if he chose to become Tranquil, would lose his magic and all connection to the Fade and live as little more than a mindless drone, serving the Circle. But the other boy would only rise to reinforce this shadow-world's hatred of magic as he turned his gifts into the realm of abuse.

Solas wished he could crack open the tower with his power, scooping out the captive mages and casting the Templars aside like thorns from a rose stem. He'd tear a crevice in the earth itself and bury this miserable place.

Except he couldn't because of the Veil…and because he couldn't draw any magic. Yet. Still, it was entertaining to imagine, to _remember._ As long as he recalled Elvhenan, it hadn't really faded completely. He had to cling to that, to keep hope kindled as he waited for his body and his magic to recuperate.

_____________________________________________

Every meal the apprentice mages had was in a large hall that was typically closed up before and afterward to prevent congregation and loitering. Gossip among the apprentices told Solas that the Templars had banned large meetings of mages, particularly among the enchanters and senior enchanters, who had the most sway and clout. Other towers had the mages relegated to quarters almost entirely, only letting them emerge for classes and chores. This tower, the Circle of Hasmal, was comparatively "free," although no one knew how long that would last considering the ongoing unrest.

For the first few days of his time spent in the apprentice barracks, Solas found he was too frail to make the journey to the dining hall without becoming a weak, shaking mess who could barely stand from the pain of overextended muscles. Fortunately the mages and enchanters who oversaw the apprentices ensured meals came to _him._ Typically it was an actual mage who brought him his meals on a tray, complete with a flask containing wine. Solas thanked them heartily, sincere in his gratitude, and always acquiesced when they suggested he ambulate through the halls after eating to work his strength up.

So it was by the fifth day of his tenure in the apprentice dormitories that Solas felt strong and stable enough on his feet to make the journey up the stairs toward the dining hall. The apprentices ate in shifts, the youngest eating an hour before noon and the oldest eating a half hour afterward. Mages followed at noon, and then enchanters and Senior Enchanters thirty minutes after that. The Templars, apparently, did not use the dining hall, though they maintained a strong presence while their charges ate.

He made the trip from the dormitory and up several flights of stairs with only a moderate ache in his muscles. By the time he accepted a tray of food from a line of Tranquil serving as cooks, all the other apprentices had filed into the dining hall, leaving him with few places to sit along the three long tables. He eyed a spot close by, eager to sit as his thighs were flicking with little spasms, but didn't make it that far before he spotted a familiar elven man trotting toward him.

It was Tal, smiling brightly. "Revas! You made it! C'mon, let me help you." Without waiting for Solas to reply, Tal took the tray from him and ushered him deeper into the room and toward the middle long table. Solas saw Rosa sitting there with a few empty seats around her and an unattended tray across from her where Tal must've been sitting. Apprentices on either side of the Dalish siblings had left a noticeable gap between themselves and the elves. They also shot them wary glances, although a few wore curious expressions.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he settled in the chair Tal pulled out for him and tried not to slump in it. Tal set his tray down in front of him and gave a small bow, grinning. "Your meal, _hahren._ "

Solas shot him a frown.

Across the table, Rosa laughed. "Tal, you suck-up. You've gone and confused Revas. You have to call him _flat-ear._ " She winked in Solas' direction. "Don't mind Tal, he didn't get the message that Dalish are rude savages. Clan Ghilath is such a disgrace to the People."

Tal flopped back down into his seat, making the trays and their silverware clatter. "And clan Naseral is any better?" he retorted with mock-insult, thrusting his chin into the air with an exaggeratedly haughty demeanor. Pinching his nose and speaking in a high-pitched tenor, Tal said, "Mythal have mercy that you should sully yourself with this shemlen food, Rosa. Those Tranquil certainly didn't praise Sylaise when they baked this bread." He picked up the small loaf and sniffed, scoffing as if offended.

Rosa laughed and immediately pinched her nose just as her brother had and began speaking in the same mocking voice, "Dread Wolf take them for feeding us this poison!"

While the siblings bantered Solas focused on spooning the rich stew into his mouth. It was far tastier than the gruel Bartholomew and Lyn had fed him in the dungeons. He chewed on a bit of meat, finding it tender and flavorful and hearty. He was always ravenous since waking, a likely side-effect of his ongoing physical recovery. He chastened himself slightly for his enjoyment when he realized he hadn't wished this meal were enchanted. This shadow-world had been tainting him, wearing his memory thin as the Veil.

"So," Tal said at his side. "How have you been getting on, Revas? Heard any interesting gossip?"

Swallowing the mouthful of food, Solas shook his head. "Sadly, nothing of import."

"And how have your dreams been of late?" Rosa asked him, cocking her head. The coy smile in place over her lips made Solas' own mouth quirk upward slightly.

"I have made…some progress," he hedged. It was true that he'd managed to alter a few minor things in the previous night's dream, thwarting a nightmare brought on by a weak fear demon that'd come to visit him. He'd been lucky the last few nights that Rosa hadn't entered his dreams as he kept dreaming of Elvhenan. Last night it had been Falon'Din's arcane warriors slaughtering innocent villagers, a scene he'd stumbled upon in long ages past, emerging from the wilds to stop them and save the town. The night before that he'd relived the end of the Evanuris' civil war—the moment when he and the other Evanuris cornered Falon'Din and forced him into uthenera to end the reign of terror he'd begun inside Dirthamen's lands.

Thinking about Falon'Din made the stew in his mouth suddenly tasteless. _Falon'Din,_ he thought. _What an ass._ That ruthless monster could _still_ ruin his day even trapped in the Black City beyond the Veil. Frowning, he pushed those thoughts aside and forced himself to continue eating.

"Gristle?" Tal asked, apparently seeing Solas' expression of distaste.

"Yes," Solas lied between spoonfuls. When he'd finished the meat and vegetables in the stew he broke the bread and began using it to sop up the remaining gravy. It was a trick he'd not thought of before one of the mages who'd been bringing his meals pointed out the idea. That mage had also commented with a laugh that he ate like a lord: clean and precise, taking his time, and eating in a certain order. Her observation had made Solas flush with embarrassment, consciously trying to amend his behavior for fear of the others seeing through his cover story. He was grateful it'd been a stranger to make the comment so that he could be sure not to give that impression now in front of a clever elven observer like Rosa.

_How would a wandering apostate with little formal education eat his meals?_ Solas made an effort to eat from the green beans and the vanilla pudding both, instead of eating the dessert last. He also made an effort to eat faster, as if pressed for time. As lunch would be ending fairly soon, he _was_ pressed for time, but had never acted that way before, a consequence of having previously been immortal. A bit of pudding dripped into his green beans and he forced himself not to grimace. He _never_ mixed food on his plate. His mother would have rapped his knuckles with spirit magic for such a lowbrow mistake. He'd been born to Elvhenan's middle class, and in that distant age—before Solas had destroyed it all—they were far more cultured than modern Thedas' middle class.

Who would've thought just _eating_ would be so taxing?

"Well," Rosa said, tapping her fingers on the wooden table beside her tray. "Since you're obviously hungrier than me, how about you take my bread, Revas?"

Solas glanced up at her, a spoonful of pudding halfway to his mouth. After the moment's hesitation he ate the pudding and slowly returned the spoon to his tray. "I appreciate the offer, and I thank you for it, but this will be plenty." He took the fork in hand to spear a few green beans but then thought better of it and decided to try the spoon instead. It'd be clumsier and would make him appear less educated…right?

"I have some gossip," Tal said then, beaming. "I heard Parahel telling one of the apprentices not to worry about some hoity-toity visitor that's coming to visit the tower. When I asked about it he told me the visitor was a Seeker of Truth who's been in the Free Marches." He leaned over the table, his voice dropping into a near-whisper, aimed clearly at Rosa. "A _Seeker_ of _Truth._ What if she could help us, Rosa? She could force them to let us go."

"Because you are Dalish?" Solas asked.

"Well," Tal said, suddenly sheepish. He dropped his gaze to his tray and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I know that wouldn't help you, Revas, but…" His brow knit and his eyes shot to Rosa, the worry obvious.

Rosa, for her part, glared at Tal. "Why would some visitor have that kind of power?" She shook her head. "You're dreaming, Tal."

"Her title is Seeker of Truth!" he protested. "Sounds to me like it's her job."

"Whoever and whatever she is, I don't think she'd come here to help solve our problems." Anger sparked in her eyes and she lifted her loaf of bread and bit into the end of it, tearing off a hunk in a way that made Solas think of a wolf. Why hadn't _he_ thought to bite straight into his bread loaf? He'd been tearing into his…in a way that he supposed could be described as dainty.

Focusing on their conversation, Solas added, "I suspect Rosa is correct. This Seeker will undoubtedly have come on some other mission. She will have no interest in the Circle's inner workings."

"Shame," Tal grumbled, poking at his pudding with a fork.

"Many such things in this world are," Solas opined.

Rosa scoffed after she'd swallowed her latest mouthful of bread. "Look at us losers, sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves." Lowering her volume, she gestured at the hall around them. "This place isn't the Dread Wolf's prison for the Creators." She ignored Solas' involuntary snort at her description, much to his relief. "We _can_ get out. We just have to find a way, or _fight_ for it. Elgar'nan's fiery butthole, I _refuse_ to sulk, okay?"

_Elgar'nan's fiery…_

"…excuse me?" he asked, shaking his head in bemusement.

"I _said_ I'm not giving up," she snarled, lip curling to expose sharp white teeth. Her shoulders had hunched and her hand on the bread had clenched, making the loaf crack and crumble onto her tray. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between Solas and Tal. "And _neither_ of you are giving up either. Got that?"

"Calm," Tal told her in a hushed voice, both palms raised to pat the air, as if he could hold her down without touching her. "Calm, _asamalin_ …" the plaintive note in his voice niggled at Solas' memory. He'd heard this exchange before…

"I _am_ calm," she snapped, nostrils flaring and fist clenching even tighter on the bread until it crumbled and fell apart, dropping into her pudding. The pale cream splattered onto her robes and over the table, making both Solas and Tal flinch. Rosa bit out a curse. "Fenedhis! Elgar'nan take this fucking shemlen shit." Switching to elven, she snarled, _"Elgar'nan's fire, I vow I'll kill every last one of them standing in my way…"_

Her voice had changed pitch and cadence slightly and in the back of his mind, Solas felt the same weighty sensation as he had in the Fade. As a Dreamer, Rosa was strong enough that Solas had been able to sense her power that way before in the Fade, but feeling her so clearly in reality? This was…odd…

"Calm," Tal repeated, the pleading note becoming one of desperation as he turned his head every which way, surveying the apprentices around them to see how many had overheard her outburst. The nearest apprentices had taken note, twisting to stare or glower at the three elves.

In elven Tal said, _"Find control, sister. Breathe. Remember the…"_ Breaking off, he thumped his chest with his fist.

Rosa's eyes widened as her hand that hadn't been crushing the bread flew to her high collar and began digging at it. A second later her nimble fingers produced a leather band and tugged out a pendant that she clutched in her fist. Her breathing slowed and her eyes drifted shut.

Shoulders slumping with relief, Tal looked to Solas with his cheeks blooming red. " _Ir abelas,"_ he apologized. "Rosa has a very violent temper and in times of stress it…" He shrugged. "It gets the better of her."

Solas stared at the young elf, his jaw clenched and his lips pinched tight. The weight in the back of his mind had faded again. A quick sidelong glance to Rosa revealed she had begun calmly trying to wipe up the pudding she'd splattered onto herself. She used one hand to scoop it up and then licked it clean from her fingers as she had no napkin. The other hand, however, still clutched the pendant. From what Solas could see of it, the pendant was a black feather, possibly from a raven, with leather strips woven over a small block of wood with beads strung from it.

"And the pendant?" he asked, brow knitting. He suspected it was enchanted but couldn't be certain without touching it himself. The unspoken question lingered in the air between the three of them: What kind of temper required an enchanted device to bring it under control?

"A gift from my mother," Rosa replied quickly. "Thinking of her always helps." Her violet eyes were bright as she smiled, the expression soft and seemingly sincere.

Curious despite himself—and eager to avoid another potential outburst—Solas asked quietly in elven, _"Did you and Tal share a mother?"_ It was the easiest explanation for why these two seemed to know so much of each other's separate clans, assuming that story was true. It also would account for how they'd known about one another at all. Children sired by a father who moved from one clan to another would have no way of knowing one another, but a mother would likely take her children with her.

The siblings exchanged a glance and then Rosa replied stiffly, "We don't talk about our families. Dalish have suffered from revealing too much to outsiders in the past."

"Even harmless flat-ears such as myself?" Solas retorted sharply, though he managed to smile in what he hoped was a friendly way to try and blunt the comment. He was as much irritated with himself as the siblings. He'd hoped to avoid confrontation by discussing something innocuous, but apparently he'd erred.

"Rosa," Tal muttered, "I don't see why—"

She made a hissing sound through her teeth at her brother, eyes narrowing in reproach. To Solas she said, "Yes, to _any_ outsider. My clan was almost annihilated once because one of the children was fool enough to let slip that we were camped along a cliff beside the river when we were trading with the shemlen." Her hand clamped down harder on the pendant as her shoulders started to shake with barely repressed emotion. "She told one of the _flat-ears,"_ Rosa clarified at his confused frown. "So, although I'm sure you would never hurt our clans, Revas, we cannot take such risks."

_In other words,_ Solas thought, keeping his expression impassive, _you do not trust me._ It wasn't surprising to hear, but it was frustrating as it only buoyed his suspicion that Rosa and Tal would betray him if they had the chance. How many times already had they tried to find an easier way of escaping the tower by virtue of their Dalish heritage negating any obligation to be become part of the Circle? He couldn't _blame_ them for trying and almost wished he wore fake vallaslin like his agent Felassan so he could claim the same.

Tal flashed him a sheepish smile and cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps we could talk about something more—"

A Senior Enchanter clapped at the entryway to the dining hall, cutting Tal off as the man shouted, "All right, mealtime is finished. Apprentices, please return to your studies and duties."

Apprentices all around them hopped to their feet, leaving their trays to be cleaned up by the Tranquil flanking either side of the hall. Solas heaved a sigh, realizing this meant another long walk for him back to the dormitories. Tal and Rosa, meanwhile, exchanged a dark look with one another.

"Something wrong?" he asked, unable to pass up the curiosity bubbling inside him. Anything that offered a distraction from the oncoming pain of the long walk would be helpful.

"It's Ser Jeremy," Tal answered, licking his lips. "Sometimes he's stationed outside and I think he delights in picking on apprentices."

Solas made a noise of acknowledgement in his throat. "I've witnessed him bullying some of the children."

"He does it constantly," Rosa growled as she got to her feet. "He's a real ass." The pendant swung free, flopping against her robes and catching Solas' gaze. Aside from the feather, it was a wooden block with leather straps woven over it. Beads had been layered over it as well, most of them glinted in the light, making Solas suspect they were made of metal. The feather hung free from one end, the shaft painted in a deep, glimmering red.

"Dread Wolf take him," Tal muttered bitterly, making Solas wonder if the young elf had experienced Jeremy's bullying directly. "And Ser Curtis, too."

_On that we are agreed,_ he thought. With a grunt, Solas hefted himself upright, glancing down at his tray with a twinge of shame at how difficult it'd been to try changing his eating habits. They began to shuffle down toward the exit, following the line of apprentices ahead—all of them in their teens.

At the end of the table Solas waited for Rosa to take the lead. She winked at him as she passed and, deciding she should walk with her brother, Solas stepped to the side to allow Tal past as well. But Tal seemed to take his repositioning as a subtle request for help instead and sidled up to Solas, grabbing his forearm. "I got you, flat-ear," he said with a chuckle.

"I can manage on my own," Solas insisted, though he didn't try jerking his arm away from the young elf. That'd destabilize him for sure and Solas had no desire to go tumbling face-first to the stone floor.

"Don't be as stubborn as Rosa," Tal said with a snort. "You'll be shaking like a leaf if you don't let _someone_ help you."

"I assure you, I am much recovered from—"

Ahead of them, a male voice boomed, "Hey you, knife-ear. You stained your robes, savage."

Tal cursed under his breath and Solas didn't need to lift his eyes to gaze at the dining hall entrance to know why. He'd recognized the voice's owner: Ser Curtis. The Templar stood at his post, hands at his waist as he surveyed the passing apprentices. His cold blue eyes had settled on Rosa and narrowed with malicious intent. Solas didn't miss the way they slid over her, leering.

Rosa glowered at Curtis but then seemed to steel herself, averting her gaze as she walked past. Her tread was stiff but even, her shoulders hunched. She slid toward the far wall, where another Templar—a woman—stood guard. The other apprentices pretended not to have heard Ser Curtis' taunting. The line kept moving through the hall and for a heartbeat Solas thought perhaps the incident would pass without escalating…but then Ser Curtis stalked from the wall and grabbed at Rosa's arm.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, bitch. I want to know how you got those _suspicious_ stains on your robes. Eh?" He dragged her, stiff and resisting, back toward the wall where he stood guard.

"Let go of me," Rosa snarled, slapping at his armored hand. The pendant bounced as she struggled.

Tal and Solas had slowed their pace to a crawl, holding up the line behind them. Apprentices began shuffling and scurrying around them, determined not to draw Curtis' ire. The female Templar wore a bored expression on her face and didn't seem inclined to interfere, but when Solas met her stare the woman gestured at him with a wave and said, "Move along, apprentices."

Curtis gave Rosa a little shake to try and still her struggling. "Hold still. I need to get a good look at those stains." He gripped her by the shoulders hard enough that she flinched before grimacing, her teeth gnashing behind snarling lips. Curtis leered closer to her, sniffing at her almost like a dog. Rosa strained backward, her face pinched with revulsion.

"Been fraternizing with the knife-ear boy?" he asked with a lascivious sneer. He poked at the whitish stains left by the vanilla pudding she'd splattered onto herself and Solas' felt his stomach acids curdle when he realized just what those marks _could_ be construed to look like: Male seed.

"Get your hands off me," Rosa yelled, red-faced and shaking with fury.

"Please," Tal called, aiming his protest at the female Templar across the hall. "It's the sodding pudding…"

The woman smirked, snickering under her breath. "Ser Curtis," she called. "If you've quite finished harassing the little rabbit, I'd like to remind you that they _did_ just have lunch with vanilla pudding."

"She's a horribly messy eater," Tal explained, nodding almost frantically to sell the story. "We aren't used to eating such fine foods or using silverware." He blinked and Solas could almost see the gears spinning desperately in the young elf's mind. He would say anything to save Rosa, no matter how self-deprecating or untrue. "She thought it was paint, actually…"

The female Templar snorted, shaking her head. "Ser Curtis," she said again, a little sterner this time. "Let her go."

With a quick glare at his fellow Templar, Curtis released Rosa, but the Dalish woman didn't step back from him. She glared at him, standing her ground with her hands clenched into fists at her side. Beside Solas, Tal muttered a curse under his breath. The young elf's body was taut, his grip on Solas' arm tight enough to hurt as he watched the scene. Why was Rosa such a confrontational fool? Did she have a death wish?

_"Asamalin,"_ Tal called to her, hissing the elven word for sister in a half-whisper, undoubtedly worried the Templars might, against all odds, know the language. "Control…" He thumped a fist against his chest, edging away from Solas as if he planned to lunge in and intervene.

A slight tilt of her head was the only indication that Rosa had heard him and immediately her hand flew toward the pendant on her chest. Unfortunately, Ser Curtis saw it and slapped her hand away, grabbing the pendant. The leather cord snapped taut, hauling Rosa forward. Her supple body, lean and lithe in the mage robes the Circle had provided, curved toward Curtis like a lover for a heartbeat before she kicked and struggled, wrenching as far from him as she could.

"Unhand me!" she growled.

"Maker," Curtis grumbled, sneering at the feather and the beaded pendant. "What kind of trash is this?" He sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose with disgust. "Is that…blood?"

"No," Tal said, stammering. "No, it's bloodstone pigment that—"

"Enchanted," Curtis pronounced, sneering.

"Contraband," the female Templar declared with a sigh. "Hand it over, mage, and Ser Curtis will let you go on your way."

"No," Rosa growled, jerking and twisting, trying to free herself. Her hands gripped Curtis', trying to pry them from the leather strap. "You _can't_ take it from me…"

"Please," Tal stammered. "It's all she has left of her clan…"

Staring, mute and helpless, Solas found his mind spinning as questions kept leaping into his thoughts, half-formed. The way Rosa had lingered close to Curtis despite being released. Her insistence that she _did_ understand how unwise it was to antagonize their captors, but in the moment she showed no restraint or self-control at all. The vehement rage that'd swept over her during the meal when he and Tal and expressed a lack of hope that a Seeker of Truth would help them. That sense of her in the Fade and again in reality, heavy in his mind. And now the pendant…

The answer toyed with him, just out of reach, but he felt certain he should see it. This was like smelling smoke. He need only follow the breeze to find its source and surely there'd be flames. A solution. An explanation.

Curtis used his other hand to draw a small knife from the belt at his waist. The ring of the metal and the glint of it in the light seemed to spark Rosa into a frenzy. She shrieked, struggling anew, lashing out at his face. Her hands clawed him across the cheek and Curtis winced, letting out an incoherent shout of pain. Rosa twisted, spinning as Curtis' grip on her slid off. The fabric of her robes screamed as it tore at the neckline and shoulder. Then Rosa slapped at a seam in his armor at the side—her hands gleamed blue with raw force.

The contact sent Curtis flying a few meters away, tossed like a ragdoll. Both Tal and Solas stumbled back with surprise. Solas caught himself against a wall, nearly tripping over another apprentice who'd stopped to gawk at this scene. Tal, however, shouted as he ran to Rosa, throwing his arms around her and calling out in elven.

" _Calm, calm, calm,"_ he chanted at her. _"There is no need to fight here,_ rogathe. _Patience, patience, or they will kill you. Please, for me, you must stop!"_

The female Templar drew her sword and Solas winced at the prickling sensation that swept over his skin as she drew on her power. "Stand down," she growled.

Tal clung to Rosa as he stared at the Templar, both siblings breathing hard. "Please," he begged. "She didn't mean to hurt him. The pendant's important to her. _Please…"_

Curtis had righted himself by now. He spat at an apprentice lingering nearby. "What are you looking at, twit? Get moving." He shoved the gawking boy down the hall. Most of the apprentices shuffled by without stopping, allowing the commotion in the hall to decrease—along with lessening the number of witnesses and potential magic-users the Templars here might have to combat.

Picking up his knife from where he'd dropped it, Curtis stalked his way toward the siblings, his boots clamping on the floor. "Little knife-ear bitch…"

Solas lunged forward without considering his own actions, placing himself in Curtis' path and raising both hands in a position that was prayer-like, both palms against one another. He wanted to be certain they could not mistake his posture as one for casting as he called out, "Please listen to the boy. There is no need for violence over—"

Curtis advanced on him so quickly Solas had no time to brace for the blow that came next. He grunted with pain and the world spun—then he was on the floor, blinking in bafflement as he tasted blood in his mouth. Above him he heard the scuffling sound of the siblings' feet over the stone and Tal started to plead again, anger and desperation roughening his young voice. "Please, ma'am! Ser Curtis has done nothing but beat and harass Rosa since she got here!"

"Ser Curtis," the woman scolded. "Stand down."

"She attacked me!" he spat.

"And I suspect the boy's telling the truth. I _know_ you," she said, the words carrying an unmistakable threat.

The hallway quieted except for the noise of harsh, fast breathing from Tal, Rosa, and Curtis. And Solas himself. Gradually, so as not to overstress his already aching muscles, joints, and bones, Solas heaved himself to his feet, swallowing the groan of pain. He wiped at his mouth once he was upright and not swaying too much on his feet. Probing at the source of the blood in his mouth with his tongue, Solas found his lower front teeth had cut into his lip.

"You three," the woman commanded, gesturing at Solas as well. "I'm escorting you to the Knight-Commander." Both eyebrows climbed into her forehead. "Will you come along peacefully?"

Solas snorted, grimacing at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. "I can do nothing else," he said ruefully. "I cannot conjure magic."

The woman blinked at him, her gaze sweeping over him critically. "You're that strange fellow Ser Bartholomew was talking about then? He calls you trustworthy."

Curtis scoffed. "There's no need to waste Knight-Commander Kali's time on this ridiculousness."

The woman smirked at him. "I disagree. If even Ser Barth's trustee over here thinks you're being unfair to the rabbit-girl…" She clucked her tongue as her eyes flew to Solas again and she grinned. "Look at that, Ser Curtis. You made Barth's prize bleed, too. He's going to _ream_ you."

Curtis refused to give in just yet. "The pendant the bitch is wearing is enchanted. It could be blood magic or some kind of binding for—"

"How about we let Knight-Commander Kali decide?" At Curtis' silent but seething look, the only acknowledgement this woman would get for acceptance, she nodded and turned to look at the three mages again as she sheathed her sword. "Follow me, rabbits. Ser Curtis, you can take up the rear."

_________________________________________________

Knight-Commander Kali's office was deeper in the tower, down several flights of stairs. Solas soon fell behind, huffing and puffing to his shame and quaking with pain. His skin was damp with perspiration, his throat dry from heavy breathing. The woman escorting them—other Templars in the hall called her Ser Jade—seemed inclined to wait on him patiently. Her brows drew together with sympathy whenever she looked back at him.

_How humiliating,_ Solas thought. He had tried not to spit the blood in his mouth out onto the stone floor, but the taste proved foul and swallowing it he knew would only make him queasy. So, red-faced with embarrassment, he tried to covertly spit whenever they were rounding corners so that the Templars might not catch him. Whether they would care or not, he wasn't certain, but he longed for a handkerchief yet dared not ask for one. The censure of blood magic might have made them paranoid of any method of preserving blood, whether dried or fluid. Best not to remind them that he was bleeding at all if he could help it.

They had to sit in a waiting area outside the Knight-Commander's office for several minutes. During that time Solas could do little but slump in his bench seat, shuddering at the cold touch of the stone wall behind him through his robes. Everything _hurt_. Beside him sat both Tal and Rosa. Tal had wisely withdrawn from Rosa, perhaps anticipating that his display of protective affection would again call into question the true nature of their relationship. How much longer would the Templars believe he and Rosa lacked a familial relationship? Given that they had little resemblance to one another, that claim could hold out—but not with the two of them acting so close.

Ser Curtis and Ser Jade waited in the landing outside the office without sitting. They were straight-backed and stern, clearly on duty. Professional, for the moment, but Solas could almost feel the seething fury beneath Curtis' otherwise impassive demeanor.

But then again, perhaps that came from Rosa. The Dalish woman sat with her hands clenched into fists on her thighs, her face set in an angry snarl. The pendant hung about her neck, as if she wore it with pride, defying her captors. Occasionally Solas saw her palm it and suck in a deep breath. Tal fidgeted whenever she moved and sometimes it appeared he might speak to her, but then seemed to think better of it and clamp his mouth shut once more.

And then the office door opened and a middle-aged woman, tall and with a broad-shouldered build, stood in the entryway. She arched one eyebrow at both Jade and Curtis before her eyes slid to the mages behind them. "What's this about?" she asked gruffly.

"Ser Curtis waylaid the Dalish woman behind me, ma'am. He made some…rather unsavory accusations regarding her robes being stained. I thought it of little note, but the issue escalated when he discovered she's wearing contraband. It dissolved into a brawl afterwards."

The Knight-Commander grunted, motioning toward Solas and Tal. "And why did you bring the other two?"

Ser Jade inhaled sharply, squaring her shoulders. "The men claim Ser Curtis has mistreated the woman since her arrival in the Circle. Considering…previous circumstances, I thought it best if I brought this matter to your attention."

"You hope to curtail Ser Curtis' behavior," Kali said, cutting through Ser Jade's tactful phrasing.

Curtis shook his head, standing stiff and at attention. "I respectfully disagree with Ser Jade's take on this scenario. The Dalish woman has caused nothing but trouble since we caught her. She _bit_ me, Knight-Commander. I recommend we make her Tranquil."

"I'd rather not rush to that conclusion, Ser Curtis," Kali said with a frown. Sighing, she shot another look past the two Templars and then waved a hand dismissively at the whole situation. "I don't have time for this. Seeker Pentaghast will be here in only a day and the last thing I need is to play mother hen. If she finds Templar corruption in this tower, I will personally see to it that _anyone_ who causes trouble is demoted or expelled from the order." She stabbed a finger at Ser Curtis. "As such, you _will_ behave with the respect and aloofness expected of a Templar in service to the Maker. You will not manhandle any of the mages, especially the women and the elves. You _will not_ waylay mages or Tranquil unless the matter is serious. Stained robes are not something Seeker Pentaghast will care about. You shouldn't care about them either."

"The matter _is_ serious!" Curtis blustered. "She has contraband!"

The Knight-Commander scowled, huffing out a sigh. She snapped her fingers and pointed to Ser Jade. "Bring her to me."

Jade dipped her head in obeisance and turned on her heel, striding to Rosa and motioning for her to get up. Glowering with fury, Rosa did as beckoned. Solas watched her, struggling to remember to keep breathing rather than holding his breath with the mounting tension. Feeling his heart pound, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. _This is a shadow-world,_ he reminded himself, preparing to hear the Knight-Commander exact some unpleasant, unfair punishment on Rosa and knowing he could do absolutely _nothing_ about it.

"This is the pendant?" Kali asked.

"Yes, Knight-Commander," Ser Curtis replied, a faint snarl underlying the words. "When I touched it I felt some kind of magic within it."

There was a moment of silence and then Solas heard the slight tinkling noise of the metallic beads on Rosa's pendant clinking against someone's armor—the Knight-Commander he assumed. A second later, Kali grunted. "I don't feel anything, Ser Curtis."

"There's blood in it," Curtis insisted. "I'm sure of it."

Now the Knight-Commander hummed. Then, suddenly, Solas heard the slick metallic _shink_ of a knife and immediately Rosa cried out, "No!"

He opened his eyes, unable to help himself and expecting another brawl, but instead he saw the Kniight-Commander holding the pendant aloft in one hand while the other brandished a blade at Rosa's throat. Kali looked to Curtis, one brow arched. "Satisfied, Ser Curtis?" she asked.

"No, Knight-Commander. I believe it should be destroyed."

"Please," Rosa said, her voice strained as if with physical pain. "I can't…I need that. You don't understand…"

Kali shook her head, clutching the trinket into her armored hand. "I'm sorry, miss. Ser Curtis is right that this is contraband. I know there are ways to hide magic from us—little cantrips to nullify it just long enough to pass inspection by a Templar. I am no fool. Ser Curtis is trustworthy enough to know a threat when he sees one." She extended her hand holding the pendant to Curtis. "Please destroy this—but remember my warning. I _will_ be watching."

"Yes, Knight-Commander." Curtis took the proffered pendant, sneering briefly at it and then whipped around and strode out of the landing toward the stairs.

Rosa watched him go, her hands wringing in front of her and her eyes stormy. At Solas' side, Tal's leg was bouncing with anxious energy. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with both hands, as if afraid of whatever would come next.

"You're Ser Bartholomew's charge?" the Knight-Commander said suddenly, drawing Solas' attention. He nodded demurely, swallowing a bit of blood-tainted spittle and forcing himself not to grimace.

"That was another reason I brought them to you, ma'am," Jade added, also motioning at Solas. "Ser Curtis lost his temper and struck him for trying to defuse the confrontation. Both men rose to her defense and as Ser Curtis seemed to lack restraint…" She shifted uneasily from one foot to another. "I thought it best to remind him of the consequences of past actions."

Curtis had obviously been in trouble before, making Rosa's predicament with him less her fault and more the Templar's in his peers' eyes. It was one small mercy in all this.

Kali nodded. "I appreciate your judgment in this, Ser Jade." Glancing toward Solas again, she said, "Are you recovered, apprentice?"

Solas cast a swift look to Rosa, who now stood off to one side of Jade and Kali, forgotten for the moment and wearing a stricken expression. One hand lay on her robes over her collarbone, where the pendant would have rested had it been there. Pity wormed in Solas' gut but he quashed it and focused on the Knight-Commander. He had to worry about his own wellbeing in this existence, and that meant fostering the good humor he'd accumulated so far by…as Rosa put it, licking their boots.

Smiling, Solas said, "I am able to walk now; a significant improvement. You and your Templars have my sincerest thanks. I would have died had you not found me." It was true, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. He'd been fairly treated so far— _mostly,_ aside from the fact he was a prisoner.

"I'm glad to hear it," Kali said with a nod. "But First Enchanter Braden told me you currently possess no magic." Cocking her head, Kali's brow knit. "I find that…intriguing. Braden has been asking me for permission to begin investigating the artifact you were found with. I'm considering granting his request." Clearing her throat, she said, "I am particularly interested in whether your condition proves permanent."

Solas kept his expression deadpan, though inside he railed and cringed against the possibility. Licking his lips, he opted for partial truth as he said, "I hope that I recover my ability to use magic, just as I have gradually regained some measure of physical strength. I still have dreams, so it seems clear I have not been sundered from the Fade, so I will retain the _possibility_ of regaining magic."

"You still dream?" Kali asked and grunted with interest. "I had not expected that." Was it Solas' imagination, or did she sound…disappointed?

"Well, it sounds like I might end up owing Ser Bartholomew twenty royals," Kali muttered, sighing.

Solas felt his jaw fall open, gawking a second before he snapped it shut again. He had not been expecting _that._ Apparently Bartholomew had been betting on whether Solas would recover his magic as well.

With a dismissive wave, the Knight-Commander ordered Ser Jade to remove the three of them from her sight. The door to her office slammed even before Solas had managed to get to his feet again. "Follow me," Jade instructed and started descending the stairs. "Make sure _she_ comes along too," she tossed over her shoulder, doubtless meaning Rosa.

Tal scurried around Solas to usher Rosa toward the stairway after Jade, but as she began stepping down, the young man whipped around and gripped Solas' forearm. Blinking with surprise, Solas stared at the other elf's face and found himself wrestling with the twinge of recognition that twisted inside him. Tal's features were distinctly elven. Whatever his bloodline, it seemed clear he was purer than most, his facial structure immediately making Solas think of Elgar'nan, Dirthamen, Falon'Din, and his friend Felassan—not to mention Solas himself who possessed similar features. Fleshed out more fully and born in Elvhenan, Tal would've blended in well with Arlathan's court.

_He is_ not _Elvhen,_ Solas reminded himself. _This is a shadow-world. These shem-elves are_ not _my people…._

Tal's brown eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he whispered, "I need to talk to you. Alone."

Eyeing the youth speculatively, Solas aimed for levity as he said, "That will prove difficult considering our current living arrangements." The dormitories weren't exactly conducive to private conversations." The desperation burning in Tal's eyes made Solas regret his lighthearted quip. Shoulders slumping, he said, "I am open to any suggestions you may have."

Tal nodded, relief and anxiety alternatively relaxing and then tightening his face. "Come with me to meet in Parahel's classroom after lights out."

The apprentices were locked inside the dormitory after lights out. Solas arched his brow. "I will see what I can do."

"Don't worry about the door," Tal said, as if reading his mind. "I will manage it." Squeezing Solas' forearm, he tugged him gently toward the stairs and in a loud voice said, "Let me help you walk, _hahren."_

"Flat-ear," Solas quipped. "Can you get nothing right, _da'len?"_

Showing none of the desperation of seconds ago, Tal let out a loud laugh. Watching Rosa several steps ahead of them, Solas expected her to turn and react to his joke as well, but she showed no sign she'd even heard. How important was the pendant after all?

Her words from the last dream she'd shared with him popped into his mind, discussing the foci: _"I have no intention of dying for it…I hope._ " As if she had no choice, no free will…like...like a...

_LIke a spirit._

And then the suspicion leapt into his mind and he bit his tongue to keep himself from gasping. _Could it be…?_ He gripped Tal a little harder, almost certain now that he knew what the younger man wanted to speak with him about.

___________________________________________________

Elven used:

_Asamalin:_ Sister

**Next Chapter:**

Rosa scoffed, slashing a hand at him dismissively. "You've done little but lie about yourself from the moment we met."

Now Solas stammered a second with shock before clamping his mouth shut and gnashing his teeth, trying to think how he should react to _that_ accusation. Denial? Probably, but it had to be a convincing denial, not an unthinking dismissal that'd hint at his fear of discovery. Part of him wanted to find out what she thought he was lying about, but that seemed unwise. Best to just leave it be.

"Your brother warned me you were slow to trust, but this is pure idiocy," he growled, and then mimicked her earlier gesture with a cut of his own hand in her direction. "Furthermore, your insistence that _I_ am the one lying when _you_ are the one hiding something as problematic and dangerous as [SPOILERS]." He snorted, shaking his head with derision. "I do not know whether I should find this amusing or insulting."


	6. The Slaughter of Clan Naseral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Causes matter. To understand the truth of events, you must understand why as well as what occurred."—Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> Tal confides in Solas, asking for his help. Rosa reveals how she came to be clan-less.

After the usual squabbling over the single water closet in the apprentice barracks had finished for the evening, a Templar came by to lock the door for the night. Solas lay in his bunk, listening to the apprentices whispering and shifting in their beds as long minutes passed. It seemed more than one apprentice defied Templar and Circle edicts against fraternization as he heard bare feet slapping over the stone floor as people switched or shared beds.

The idea of these near-children in this cramped, absolutely _not_ private space engaging in silent, secretive sexual exploration made his stomach twist with something akin to pity. …And, shamefully, a little bit of longing as it reminded him of his own first fumbling experiences growing up. Of course those days had been tainted forever by the trauma of living under the Evanuris and the constant fear that he would be discovered. Born to the middle class, his talents as a Dreamer had made him too powerful to remain there. All children with such gifts were taken from their homes and raised in the upper class, whether they wanted that or not. Solas had hidden his abilities rather than be taken against his will from his parents and his home. But he'd been lucky compared to the less talented children, who were deemed to belong to the lower classes. They often wound up as slaves and there was no hiding lack of talent.

Pushing those dark memories from his mind, Solas felt the Fade tugging at him as exhaustion crept up on him. His body was tired, achy from exertion, and sleep promised relief that he would have gladly welcomed, if not for his promise to try and meet with Tal. Solas had to keep pinching the sensitive skin of his inner arm, using the spurt of pain to keep sleep away.

Eventually the other apprentices quieted. The whispering faded and rustling in beds became rare as everyone settled into sleep outright. Finally, just as Solas was about to give in to his own fatigue, he heard the slight rustle of someone passing his bed. Opening his eyes and blinking against the dark, Solas propped himself up with one elbow and, through the faint light of the barrack windows, saw a lithe elven form tiptoeing toward the door.

Smiling to himself, he couldn't help but appreciate Tal's stealth and silence. The Dalish certainly knew how to train their children to pass unseen. Even a mage like Tal had the surefootedness of a rogue. Solas had taken centuries to hone his own talents in that area, as it hadn't been something his parents or teachers taught him growing up in a village.

When Solas heard the slight metallic clicking of someone picking a lock, he slowly pushed aside his coverlet and rose from his cot. His muscles protested and his head swam for a moment, making him breathe louder than he liked, but he overcame it and pressed on. He was louder than Tal had been, but none of the apprentices woke as he passed their beds and moved to stand over Tal's kneeling form at the door.

Tal lifted his head long before Solas reached him, a sure sign that his keen ears hadn't missed his approach. In the darkness, Solas could just make out the thin shape Tal used in the door lock and smiled with amusement as he recognized it: a knife from dinner. The utensil was dull, but narrow enough that with some filing and reshaping it would make a passable lock-pick.

After a moment of frustration, jiggling the knife about in the lock and letting out a huffing breath, the door mechanism clacked gently. Tal froze and Solas held his breath, straining his ears to listen to both the apprentices and the hall beyond the dormitory. After a minute passed with no sound, Tal slowly eased the door open just wide enough to allow their slim bodes through, shuffling sideways.

In the hall outside a wall sconce glowed green, lit by magic. It was dull and diffuse, but still bright to their night-adjusted eyes. Solas winced, blinking as moisture beaded in his eyes. Tal did the same, wiping brusquely at them. Then, casting a quick look at Solas, he extended his arm. It was a silent offer of aid.

Frowning with reluctance, Solas gripped the younger elf's proffered arm. He could be quieter if he had support. Tal nodded at him, his expression solemn though his lips twitched upward slightly. They began a slow, cautious walk down the hallway, their ears listening for any sign of Templar patrol.

When the sound of boots clomping over the stone reached them, Tal quickly pulled Solas into a shadowed alcove between two large bookshelves lining the hall. Smashed together in the shadow of the tall bookshelves, Solas held his breath as the glittering, armored form of the Templar plodded by them. The man's shoulders were slumped and his head hanging—a posture of boredom. He didn't expect to encounter any trouble this late at night, especially not in the apprentice's wing.

As the Templar's footsteps receded, Tal took Solas' arm and led him away from the bookshelves, further down the hall until they'd reached the closed door of Parahel's classroom. Again Tal knelt, producing the knife to pick the lock. Stiff with tension, Solas stood out of the alcove of the doorway, craning his head to look up and down the hall, listening. Except for the gentle metallic clicking of Tal's efforts with the lock, the tower was as silent as an uthenera chamber.

Then, finally, Tal unlocked the door and inched it open, slipping inside. Solas followed and moved to pull the door closed after him, slow and as silent as possible, but Tal was already there, doing it for him. One hand was up, palm out, and glowing faintly green-blue with magic. Solas shivered with longing as the sensation caressed his skin, waking the long memories of working his own magic, many times more powerful than this Dalish youth's.

With the aid of his magic, Tal softened the clack of the door as it latched shut and then heaved a sigh. "We'll have to whisper," he said, voice raspy and low. "I'd cast a sound deadening spell, but I'm afraid the Templar on patrol might sense it. So, as long as we keep it quiet this is the best chance we have at a private conversation."

"This is about Rosa," Solas guessed. He made his way over to one of the wooden desks and eased himself into it with a quiet grunt of effort. 

"Yeah," Tal admitted. He rubbed his hands over his face, his posture of defeat like a man facing execution. Then, shaking his head and upper body, he pivoted to face Solas and crossed his arms over his chest. "Rosa told me you have knowledge about spirits and demons. You're a Dreamer, like her."

"Yes," Solas agreed and then left it at that. If his suspicions about Rosa were correct…it was fortuitous that these two siblings should encounter _him_ of all people. His skin dimpled with gooseflesh at the thought but he quashed it. He would _not_ jump to conclusions and risk offending them or exposing how unusual his knowledge was for this post-Veil world.

"Okay," Tal said, nodding. He put his hands together, palm-to-palm, and then brought them up to his lips in a motion of deep thought. His brow furrowed after a few moments and he dropped his hands to his sides. "I need to tell you about why Rosa is clan-less for you to understand."

"I am listening," Solas encouraged.

Tal strode closer and took a seat in the desk beside Solas as he began his tale. "You remember we said that we left because there were too many mages in our clans?" At Solas' nod, Tal blew out a breath and smirked. "Well, that was only true for _me."_

Solas hummed in acknowledgement, accepting without indicating judgment for the half-truth.

"Do you remember at lunch she…" He broke off and groaned under his breath, averting his eyes and grimacing as if in pain. "Let me start over." Drawing in a deep breath, Tal turned back toward Solas with narrowed eyes. "Do you believe in the shemlen's Maker? And Andraste?"

"I am agnostic," Solas revealed. "I believe in cause and effect, that wisdom is its own reward." He pinched his lips together, determined to reveal nothing regarding the Evanuris without provocation from Tal. This secret meeting was not the time or place for such a discussion since it would inevitably devolve into an argument.

Tal's look of relief was palpable. His eyes shut and he puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "Good. I didn't think so, but I had to be sure." Opening his eyes again, his hands on his thighs curled into fists as his gaze scrutinized Solas, searching him. "What do you think of…I mean…" His eyes flicked around the room, as if searching for an answer to his as-yet unasked question there. Then his attention returned to Solas' face as he blurted, "You said a possessed apostate blew up something in Kirkwall, right?"

Solas blinked at the abrupt change, but the suspicion in the back of his mind had begun to swell with mounting confidence at this question. He nodded. "Yes."

Tal leaned closer to him, whispering, "What do you think of that? The mage, I mean. The possessed one. Do you think he deserved to be executed like the shemlen religion does? Or…?"

"I believe his actions were regrettable, but there are times when violence is necessary to bring about change." Solas motioned at the classroom, indicating the rest of the tower. "The Circle of Magi is a flawed system that leads to corruption and persecution. It creates more misery than it prevents." Pausing when he saw Tal fidget as if with nervousness or impatience, Solas smirked slightly at the younger man. "But I know you are not asking what I think of his _actions._ You wish to know my opinion on _possession."_

Tal winced, cringing back from him. Both hands wrung in front of him and one leg bounced with anxious energy. He looked about the room, as if searching for some hidden observer who might overhear them, though of course there was none. Finally, he faced Solas and swallowed hard. "Yes. I want to know what you know about possession."

That clinched it then. Rosa's unpredictable and volatile temper, her overly weighty presence in the Fade and at lunch that day, and her foolish confrontational nature with the Templars made sense now. She was possessed, and if the Templars discovered that truth they'd kill her.

_No wonder they are desperate to escape the tower,_ Solas thought.

Solas was silent a moment, considering how he should answer. Possession hadn't been all that common in Elvhenan because spirits—hostile, neutral, and friendly alike—had resided in the physical world without the Veil as a barrier. Only the very weak or uneducated succumbed to the temptation of a hostile spirit's seduction and trickery. And, of course, most spirits had no desire to possess a living body because they were already in the waking world. They were more likely to want to _interact_ with the Elvhen than possess them. Sometimes that interaction was violent, but typically it was benign, even from the likes of spirits that represented such emotions as rage or pride or fear.

In this shadow-world post-Veil, possession of mages was sadly common and misunderstood, at least from what Solas had seen through dreams. The Chantry and Templars had no desire to learn about it or consider other approaches beyond slaughtering the unfortunate mage involved. The general consensus among humans was that possession was permanent, but Solas knew that wasn't true if one understood the nature of spirits. The Chantry and Templars would also identify Rosa as an _abomination_ , regardless of the fact that she wasn't overtly hostile and seemed to be in control over the spirit within her… _most_ of the time. They would still kill her without question or hesitation. And it wasn't just the Templars. Many of the mages within the tower would gladly help them out of fear of Rosa's possession.

Slow and quiet with caution, Solas said, "I believe I know why you are asking, _da'len._ " At the informal term Tal's mouth fell open as if to protest, but then snapped shut again as he waited for Solas to go on. "Rosa's recklessness made little sense to me, until now."

The horrified expression twisting over Tal's face seized Solas' heart with sympathy. "It's not what you think," he stammered, shaking his head. "She wasn't tricked and it isn't a demon. She is _not_ an abomination…"

Solas raised one hand in a placating motion. "I know, _da'len._ She made the conscious choice to allow the spirit to possess her." At Tal's anxious hand wringing, Solas reassured him, "Your secret is safe with me. Better still, you were right to bring this to me. I may be able to help her."

Tal's shoulders slumped and he began shaking. In the pale light from the moon Solas could see moisture glinting in his eyes. "Praise Mythal," he whispered breathily. "I hoped you would, but if I was wrong…"

Admiration warmed Solas' skin, making him smile fondly at the youth. The danger Tal had taken on his sister's behalf, defending her and trying to keep her calm as he hid her secret, was no small thing. And now entrusting their secret to a "flat-eared" stranger prompted Solas to reach out and grasp Tal's shoulder, squeezing. "I cannot promise my efforts will succeed," he cautioned. "But I will promise to do everything within my power to help."

"She doesn't trust you," Tal blurted, scowling. "She said she wanted to tell you, but she's very wary and she's convinced herself you would believe her an abomination, or turn her in to the Templars to further gain their trust…"

Shaking his head, offended at the very idea, Solas scoffed. "I do not understand how your sister can have such low expectations of me. Is it because I do not wear vallaslin?" he grumbled. "Because I am not Dalish? Or is the spirit influencing her mind?"

Tal turned his head slightly, shooting Solas a sidelong look as his lips quirked up and then down, as if he couldn't puzzle out how to feel about that comment. When Tal remained silent except for that odd, coy stare, Solas bristled. "What?" he asked, a little snappishly.

_"Ir abelas, hahren,"_ Tal intoned with a respectful dip of his head. "I did not mean to offend with what I said. Rosa is…slow to trust, especially when…ah, she doesn't know the other person well. That is all."

Somehow, Solas didn't think that was all of it in the least. Smoothing his expression and his somewhat wounded ego, Solas changed the subject. "I presume the pendant that the Knight-Commander took from her today was enchanted with a binding spell to help Rosa in keeping the spirit under control?"

The younger elf nodded solemnly. "That was why I took this risk. The next time she starts to lose control over it, the spirit will manifest visibly." He sucked in a shaky breath. "And the Templars will kill her."

Nodding his understanding, Solas glanced toward the closed door of the classroom. "Then we have little time. Do you know what type of spirit resides within her?"

Tal shrugged. "I'm not sure. She doesn't talk about it much, but she has called it _Rogathe_ , before."

The elven term translated as _bravery, courage,_ or _daring._ An uncommon spirit, like compassion, and easily warped into something like pride or bloodlust. Had the spirit come to her to bolster her because she lacked courage, or had it seen its virtues mirrored in her? With a contemplative frown, Solas asked, "Was Rosa prone to fear or…" he drifted off, uncomfortable saying _cowardice_ because of its inherent nature as an insult. Settling on a better word, he said, "Timidity?"

Immediately Tal snorted and clapped a hand over his mouth as if to hold back laughter. Composing himself again, he let his hand drift back to his lap as he said, "Rosa's name means _to stand tall._ She was well-named. She's always been defiant and brave. She was beloved as Naseral's First even ten years ago when I first met her at the Arlathvhen. Her…" he paused a second before saying, "Her Keeper told me she made Rosa First when she was only seven because she faced down a bear to rescue her pet fennec." He grinned, the pride he felt for his sister's bravery showing clearly in his face. "A _bear,_ Revas! And she was _seven!"_

Somehow, Solas wasn't the least bit surprised to hear this tale. He could imagine a childlike version of Rosa standing her ground defiantly in front of a rampaging bear, unflinching and unafraid. That was the sort of bravado that _would_ attract a spirit of bravery.

"Then the spirit was drawn to like qualities within her," Solas surmised aloud. "That may make our task easier." If Rosa had summoned the spirit into herself to bolster her weaker nature, the spirit would prove very reluctant to leave because its purpose continued unfulfilled. But if it had become part of her for some other task and now was merely trapped within her it might prove fairly easy to make it leave. "Can you tell me how she came to be possessed by the spirit?" Solas asked after a contemplative moment.

Tal's gaze dropped to his lap. "I don't know exactly. She won't tell me." He shrugged. "All I know is that her clan exiled her for it and it broke her heart. Whatever happened…" He blinked, his lips twisting. "It was bad. People died. That's all I know."

Nodding in somber silence, Solas tucked that curiosity aside for later. It seemed he would have to discuss this with Rosa directly. _How_ and _why_ the possession had happened in the first place were vital to ending it. "Can you convince Rosa to seek me out in the dreaming?" he asked. "I must speak with her about what happened in order to help her…" Frowning with difficulty, he selected the best word he could for what he hoped to achieve. "…decouple from the spirit."

Now Tal smirked. "I expect she's already in the Fade looking for you, probably to pick your brain about this very same thing. Not like she has much other choice now with the pendant gone."

Solas arched an eyebrow. "You said she did not trust me."

A coy smile, much like Rosa's, worked over Tal's lips. "That's what she _says…"_

Baffled and irked, Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed both siblings were determined to vex him. From Tal's tone, he knew Tal implied his sister was disingenuous somehow, but whatever the other elf truly meant wasn't clear. "We should return to the barracks," he said.

"Yep," Tal agreed and sprang upright, extending his arm to Solas. "I'll lead the way, _hahren."_

Shooting Tal a slight smile, Solas rejoined, "Don't you mean flat-ear, _da'len?_ "

Tal shrugged as Solas took his arm and heaved himself upright. "Consider it an honorary title. You're half-Dalish, aren't you?"

"Yes," Solas lied, keeping his cover story in mind.

"Remind Rosa of that then," Tal suggested, his voice growing quieter as they shuffled toward the door. "And make sure you tell her _I_ trust you. She'll come around pretty quick then."

"For her sake," Solas muttered. "I should hope so. We have little time."

__________________________________________

When Solas opened his eyes in the Fade he found himself laying on the side of a grassy slope, staring up at the underside of the forest canopy high overhead. Stars glittered, cold and distant, but beautiful. The air was motionless, laden with an earthy scent of leaf-litter and soil. Pollen tickled his nose.

Was this his dream or Rosa's?

Sitting up, Solas peered around him through the dark, trying to recognize the forest. There was no sign of Fade ether, though pale mist clung around the hollows beneath his slope and about the trunks of trees. Fireflies danced on a hill across the trough, making him think of wisps momentarily before he recognized them as benign insects.

This was modern Thedas, he decided. That suggested this was Rosa's dream. Had Solas slipped into her dream, or had she called him into it? If Solas had managed to enter Rosa's dream than it was a pleasant and much-welcome surprise, suggesting his talents were recovering faster now. Soon he might be able to find Felassan's dreams again…

The sensation of being watched made him stiffen and almost simultaneously Solas heard the gentle crunch of underbrush and fallen pine needles further up the slope behind him. Shooting to his feet with the speed and grace of a fully recovered body—granted by the Fade and the power of his will—Solas stared through the dark to see Rosa's lean form.

She wore only a pair of tan breeches and a white tunic likely made of halla leather. Her violet eyes narrowed as she stared down at him, one hand grasping a pine tree bough absently. "Trouble sleeping, Revas?" she asked. "I've been waiting for you."

"Did you draw me here?" Solas asked her quickly, eager to know for sure whether his own talents were beginning to manifest or if this was all her doing.

"I think you did this as much as me," she told him with a shrug, picking at the tree bark. "This is my dream. I chose it when I couldn't find you. Got tired of waiting. I think you slipped into it."

He felt a tremor of relief pass through him, cool and calming. _I_ will _recover,_ he thought, eyes fluttering shut.

"I…" Rosa began, her voice wavering. "I have something I need to ask you about."

Opening his eyes again, Solas squared his shoulders and took in her stiff posture and pinched facial expression. One hand lay at the base of her throat, fingers scratching at the tunic there, as if searching for the pendant. It wasn't there, of course. "I know," he told her with a nod. "Tal told me."

She jerked, as if his words had physically impacted her. "He _what?"_ she asked.

"I know you are carrying a spirit inside you," Solas told her, keeping his voice soft and gentle. "Tal believed I can help you—and he's right." Clenching his jaw, Solas shook his head. "You asked me before what I knew of spirits and demons. You should have brought this up then, _da'len._ "

"Yes," she snapped, frowning. "I did ask you about it. And you immediately assumed I wanted you to summon demons and perform blood magic as part of our escape. That is exactly what one of these Circle mages would say if Id asked them." She snapped off a small sprig of pine needles and tossed it to the ground with more force than was necessary, glaring at him. "What was I supposed to think, Revas?"

"A Circle mage would not have admitted to knowing much of spirits," Solas protested, though he could feel his cheeks burning. She had a point. In his effort to hide how unusual he was for this age, Solas _had_ parroted Chantry rhetoric in their exchange. Considering what he knew about Rosa now… _of course_ it would taint her opinion of him.

Rosa scoffed, slashing a hand at him dismissively. "You've done little but lie about yourself from the moment we met."

Now Solas stammered a second with shock before clamping his mouth shut and gnashing his teeth, trying to think how he should react to _that_ accusation. Denial? Probably, but it had to be a convincing denial, not an unthinking dismissal that'd hint at his fear of discovery. Part of him wanted to find out what she thought he was lying about, but that seemed unwise. Best to just leave it be.

"Your brother warned me you were slow to trust, but this is pure idiocy," he growled, and then mimicked her earlier gesture with a cut of his own hand in her direction. "Furthermore, your insistence that _I_ am the one lying when _you_ are the one hiding something as problematic and dangerous as _possession…_ " He snorted, shaking his head with derision. "I do not know whether I should find this amusing or insulting."

"Both, probably," Rosa suggested, the coy smile hard and humorless on her lips. Then her gaze dropped to her feet. _"Ir abelas._ You do not deserve my suspicion and you're right. I cannot accuse you of falsehood when I have held back so much myself."

Looking up at her, Solas saw she'd begun to shake. She wrapped her arms over herself, as if cold. Sighing, Solas said, "I promised your brother I would help you. To do that, I need to understand what led you to accept the spirit into yourself."

She nodded without looking at him. "You need to understand its purpose, yes."

Surprised by her knowledge, Solas' brows rose up into his forehead. "That is correct. The spirit will strongly resist returning to the Fade if it feels it has not fulfilled its purpose."

Still nodding, Rosa said, "I call the spirit Rogathe. I have known it since I was a child. It used to visit me every night and tell me stories of the brave and heroic things it'd seen in others' dreams." Her voice grew more lighthearted as she spoke, wistful with memory. "I'd tell it silly, inane things about clan life. I can't imagine Rogathe found any of it entertaining, but it never complained and it would try to guide me on how I could help the clan." By the end of this explanation she was smiling.

Hearing of another enjoying the company and wisdom of a spirit, even in this shem-world, warmed his heart and brought a genuine smile to Solas' lips. But a shadow lingered on the edges of his mind, knowing this story had a less than ideal ending and could yet become a tragedy if he failed to save Rosa and Rogathe.

Clearing his throat, Solas prompted her with, "Your clan did not approve, I assume."

Now she surprised him by laughing. "Au contraire, flat-ear. Don't you remember that I told you my clan was unusual? My Keeper knew of Rogathe and approved of it wholeheartedly."

Still grinning, Rosa lifted both arms and shut her eyes. The Fade shimmered around them and Solas shuddered as the malleable dreamscape altered around him. In the blink of an eye night had become day and Solas saw a brownish cliff-face rising up a few miles distant. Behind him he heard the gentle roar of rough water and pivoted on his heel to find a rocky, fast-flowing stream. Peering to the right, downriver, Solas saw aravels arranged in a wide half-circle.

Rosa walked up to his side and gestured to the river. "Behold, the Fehorn. And over there," she pointed to the encamped aravels. "Clan Naseral. _My_ clan."

Cutting a look of mock-irritation at Rosa, Solas said, "Did you, or did you not, tell me earlier today that you could not tell me anything about your clan?"

She blew out a breath, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I did. But that was before Tal blabbed about Rogathe. There's no point holding this back now." She swallowed then, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the river, her eyes dark and stormy. "But I…find it hard to speak of them." The fingers of both hands idly stroked along her biceps where she held herself. "But here…I don't have to _tell_ you. I can _show_ you." Grimacing, she muttered, "Not that that will make it any easier, really."

"I assume you joined with Rogathe because of something traumatic that happened to your clan," Solas guessed, his voice soft. "Is that correct?"

She nodded, a muscle at her temple feathering. Her eyes drifted shut and Solas felt the Fade ripple again, reacting to her power and will. The bitter churn of envy rolled his stomach but he quashed it, reminding himself of the tiny triumph he'd uncovered earlier, learning that he had willed himself into Rosa's dream rather than the other way around.

"There," Rosa said, the single word breathy. Her brow knit and her eyes were dark as she strode past him, walking closer to the aravels. Solas moved after her, picking his way cautiously over the rounded river rocks making up the bank. Rosa pointed toward the tree line and Solas saw humanoid figures, indistinct and shadowy, charging out of the trees.

The Dalish camp had come alive with figures as well, of varying shapes and sizes. Screams and shouts echoed as the elves reacted to the sudden surprise attack. Hunters and warriors ran forward, weapons lifted and bows drawn with arrows nocked. Elders scooped up children and rushed to the aravels, pushing them inside. The elves clashed with the bandits. Halla bleated and screamed as they were cut down or chased away. The clan and the attackers appeared to have about equal numbers, but the bandits had surprise on their side.

Solas flinched as he saw the first elven warrior fall. In the Fade the memory was surprisingly clear and sharp, a mark of Rosa's notable talent as a Dreamer as well as the impact that this event doubtless had on her. Solas saw the crimson spurt of the first elven casualty as a splatter over the pale river rocks and sand. He heard the shrieks of horror and grief as the dead elf's comrades threw themselves forward with greater ferocity to avenge him.

A bandit fell, his arm severed in one powerful blow by a Dalish woman, but a human archer from the trees shot her in the thigh. Another bandit surged for her, roaring and hefting up a great-axe, ready to cleave her head from her shoulders, but then a fireball slammed into him. As the bandit screamed with panic and pain, Solas' gaze shifted to deeper in the camp where a familiar figure in Dalish Keeper armor—Rosa—stood stiff and defiant, wielding an intricately carved wooden staff. Some of it was made of ironbark, the blue brilliant in the sunlight overhead.

Spinning the stave, Rosa conjured chain lightning, making three bandits racing for her stumble as their muscles seized. With a wave of her hand, she cast barriers over her fellow Dalish, aiding the fighters. When a bandit drew close enough to strike at her, Rosa let out a wordless, ferocious shout and lunged for him using her staff as a spear. The ironbark blade at the end of it skewered the bandit through the stomach, cutting clean through his armor. Blood spurted, splashing over her and onto the rocks.

Beside him, overlooking the scene and shaking like a leaf caught in the wind of a storm, Rosa said, "Our Keeper was in the shemlen city. We traded with them once a season. She took our Second with her—just a child." Rosa's head and shoulders drooped. "Our Second told a flat-ear in the city about our campsite. Somehow, these bandits found out. They must have scrambled to reach our camp before our Keeper returned, to attack when we were weakest." She stopped, sucking in a wet breath as she covered her face with both hands.

Fighting the building burn of rage and helpless frustration inside him as he watched the scene unfold, Solas found his throat closed against anything he might say. What could he tell her that would not seem like an empty platitude? He had seen his share of carnage and slaughter, of course, but could not reveal or share it without exposing himself. The back of his eyes stung and he gnashed his teeth as he saw more and more Dalish fall, either dead or with severe wounds.

A few of the bandits had forged deeper into the camp and began raiding the aravels. A child screamed with terror and Solas' fists clenched as he saw a man drag out a girl of about five, soaked in the blood of the elder who'd been protecting her.

"We were too few," Rosa said at his side, glaring out at the unfolding attack and shaking again. This time Solas knew it wasn't grief. Her face was red and her eyes narrowed. The muscle at her temple feathered rapidly and her nostrils flared. The weighty sensation swelled in the back of his mind again and this time there was no mystery as to its source. It was Rogathe stirring within her.

"They would have killed us all," Rosa went on.

On the riverbank turned battlefield below, Solas saw Rosa spear another attacker and hurl a Fade stone at yet more of them. Her teeth were gritted together, her armor and face spattered with shemlen blood, her stave slick with it. And then one of them crashed into her from behind and stabbed a dagger through her shoulder. His body weight crushed her to the ground. Rosa screamed, more with rage than fear or pain, craning her neck up to look at the aravels—at the children of her clan.

"Or worse," the real Rosa beside him growled in a deep voice. "They would have taken us as slaves."

"Fenedhis," Solas swore, feeling his heart hammer against his breastbone. He wanted to petrify every last one of them, to cast a firestorm so intense that there'd be nothing left of them at all—not even ash.

"I had no choice," Rosa snarled. "I was too weak. Too frail. Rogathe was watching from the Fade and it lent me its strength. It wanted to help me, help _us._ "

Memory-Rosa cried out in elven, but the words were lost over the rush of the Fehorn river. She shook and then slumped, going limp as if passing out from blood loss. The bandit on her back, with his blade still piercing her shoulder, cackled and yanked on her hair. "A mage," he shouted. "No good, this one, even if she's pretty." Ripping out his dagger from her shoulder, the man brought it to Rosa's throat—

And then a bright light swelled, so sudden and unexpected that it made Solas' eyes smart and he hissed, shielding them. Blinking away moisture, he stared down now and saw Rosa was upright; her arm outstretched to the man who'd stabbed her. She held his face in her hand, her grip crushing. Blood welled around her fingers a heartbeat before the bandit's head exploded. Bits of gore flew out in a wet spray and his body collapsed to the ground, limp as a boneless fish.

Bandits rushed at her, weapons glinting bright in the blinding light that emanated from her body. She turned her head and a wave of green-white energy shot out with a _boom_ that echoed from the cliffs and the trees. The nearest bandits fell away from the mindblast, shrieking in agony as the trauma of it ruptured major arteries and made them bleed out. They fell to the river rocks, blood pouring from their bodies.

" _You have no honor,"_ Rosa shouted at them, her voice impossibly loud and deep. _"You have no valor. You must die for your crimes, cowards. You will die by my hand."_ She Fade-stepped to reach the nearest bandits who hadn't been caught in her mindblast and summoned a Veilstrike with a punching motion. The two men caught in it smashed against the river rocks and Solas heard the audible crack of their bones breaking.

Arrows fired from bandits near the tree line seemed to hit a wall a meter shy of Rosa, dissolving into ash as if incinerated by her light. They succeeded only in drawing her ire and Rosa whipped around to face them and used both arms in a swirling motion before clenching her fists and punching downward, unleashing a firestorm. Fiery Fade rocks hurled down, shrieking as they hit the bandits. Trees caught fire, popping and crackling as the brimstone smashed into them. The bandits shrieked with horror as one by one the fiery stones hit them, burning them to a crisp or smashing them into reddish pulp.

With every last human dead, Rosa stood erect and stiff, the blood on her armor flaking off and flying away as ash. Her eyes glowed white as she turned to survey the clan. A handful of elders, children, and warriors remained alive enough to watch her, scattered about the camp. Some gawked with horrified awe, while others simply sobbed. From the aravels, the children cried.

Rosa blinked and the brilliant halo of light faded from around her and then vanished. Diminished now, she swayed on her feet and collapsed.

"They were comfortable with spirits," Rosa said at his side. "But possession?" She shook her head, gaze dropping to the sand at their feet. "Mamae…" She frowned and made a choking sound before starting over. "My Keeper, when she and the others who'd gone to trade returned, she said Rogathe would become a demon. She said I would become a mindless beast seeking blood, unless I could get Rogathe to leave me." Her shoulders shook and her voice cracked. "But it wouldn't leave me."

"It's purpose has become to protect you," Solas murmured somberly. His throat was thick with a lump he couldn't swallow. _"Ir abelas, da'len."_

"It offered me strength," she whispered, staring straight ahead as the aravels and the river grew fuzzy. This was the end of her memory as it was clear she'd passed out on the battleground below. "It promised to help me fight. I felt its good intentions. It wanted to save me, preserve me _and_ my clan. I would be dead if not for Rogathe, but…"

"Now you will be killed by the Templars unless we can convince it to leave you," Solas finished with a slow nod of understanding. His fingers twitched at his side as he gazed at the woman beside him, so clearly needing comfort…

The pain in her eyes, in her body language, it was as _real_ and undeniable as any he'd seen in Elvhenan. He'd seen that pain in the faces of Elvhen men and women whose families had been butchered by Falon'Din's arcane warriors. How could he repeat the same foolish denial when it was so clearly incorrect? _She is real._ And that meant everyone in this post-Veil world was. He felt nauseous, his muscles quivering and his skin dimpling with gooseflesh. _What a fool I am…_

And then he reached for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her into what he hoped was a comforting embrace. She didn't resist, leaning into him and letting out a shuddering breath, hot against his skin through the thin robes he wore. Gently patting and rubbing her upper back, Solas murmured, _"Ir ableas, lethallan._ For your loss."

She was silent for a time, leaning against him, shoulders heaving with each breath. Then, slowly, her hands moved to his chest with a light touch as she stepped backward. Solas followed her lead, releasing her and retreating slightly until her hands fell away from him. They stood far enough apart that they could reach out and touch if they wished, but the distance seemed unfathomably vast with the horror and grief of the slaughter below fading.

It had been literal ages since he had embraced another or tried to offer comfort—in or out of the Fade. His cheeks felt warm, wondering if she thought him awkward or stiff or unfeeling. Dismissing those thoughts, he tucked his hands behind his back, willing himself to take command. To feign confidence until he felt it genuinely. He had far more important things to be doing just now than worrying about whether he could still give acceptable, comforting hugs.

"No matter what happens," Rosa whispered, staring off into the distance with her violet eyes glazed. "I still have Tal. And…" She frowned, giving a quick shake of her head. Whatever she'd been about to say, she seemed to have thought better of it. Blinking, her gaze shifted to him, refocusing. "Will forcing Rogathe to leave me cause it harm or turn it into a demon?" she asked, a look of pain flashing over her features. "I don't want to harm it."

Solas tilted his head, startled again at how much understanding she possessed of spirits despite the Veil, which he'd expected would make such insight unlikely or even impossible. Her clan must have preserved some of the ancient knowledge from before the Veil. As badly as the Dalish had done in remembering history, their oral storytelling _did_ carry seeds of truth on occasion. This must be one of them.

"What?" Rosa asked, frowning at his silence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You surprise me," he admitted and then looked away, clearing his throat and hoping to gloss over his reaction. "But, more importantly, in answer to your earlier question, forcing Rogathe to leave you against its will would likely corrupt it, yes. Rogathe must feel its purpose has been fulfilled."

Hesitating a moment, Solas twiddled his thumbs behind his back where Rosa wouldn't see it as he considered how best to phrase the next part. Rosa stared at him expectantly, apparently unsurprised by his pronouncement so far. Dropping his gaze to the rocks and sand at their feet, Solas said, "My fear is that Rogathe has already been…warped by its time with you in this world."

She nodded, her eyes falling to the ground as well. "I was afraid of that." She swallowed, hard. "I tried to stay calm all the time I was traveling. The pendant helped." Frowning, she flashed a grimace, revealing bared teeth. "But it's gone now…"

"Which is why we must be swift," Solas pointed out. Drawing in a deep breath, he asked, "Can you unleash Rogathe? I would like to speak with it directly."

Her violet eyes flicked to his, dark and wary. Lips pinching in a hard line, she said, "I've never tried before…"

Dipping his chin, Solas spoke in a somber voice, "Please. You may never manage to convince Rogathe alone. Allow me a chance to speak with it. I may be able to reason with it."

Rosa's shoulders slumped and then squared again, as if she fought an inner battle with exhaustion or grief. Likely she did, but the struggle didn't reveal itself in her expression. Her eyes remained glued to him, steely with determination but stormy with fear. "I'll try," she murmured with a nod. "But I've never called Rogathe deliberately before. It stirs when I get angry or frightened—or when I feel hopeless. Today at lunch, when you and Tal sounded like you were giving up…" She broke off, closing her eyes. "I almost lost control."

"Yes, I remember," Solas said, chuckling slightly when she shot him a glare. "Your behavior makes a great deal more sense to me now, _lethallan._ Before learning of Rogathe, I thought you mad."

Rosa grinned. "You think Rogathe makes me like this?" She laughed, tossing her head back. When the loud peals of laughter tapered off, she said, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I was born this way." Gesturing at herself, she smirked at him as she added, "Flat-ear."

Snorting, Solas pushed down hard on that same annoying… _some_ thing that bubbled within him at hearing her laughter. Cocking an eyebrow, he said, "I certainly hope Rogathe bares _some_ responsibility for your bullheadedness." Lowering his voice slightly, Solas said, "But I suppose there is only one way to know. Call Rogathe. Reach inside yourself and draw it out."

Inhaling sharply, Rosa pivoted to face him full on and shut her eyes. Her hands were crossed under her breasts, uplifting them marginally. Solas swallowed as his eyes dropped to admire her breasts and then the rest of her shapeliness in the relatively formfitting tunic and breeches before he shook his head and refocused his full attention on Rosa's expression. Still, a touch of heat sprang into his cheeks, a brand of shame at how easily he could be tempted to distraction.

_A consequence of spending millennia asleep with no physical contact at all,_ he thought. That had to be it, of course. Now that his physical body was once more firmly tied to his spirit and currently recovering, it was inevitable it would begin influencing his mind in such a way. A shame, really, that he had virtually no privacy to abate that particular physical need…

_Stop thinking about it,_ he admonished himself. _Fenedhis._

Rosa's brow knit, her head turned and tilting a little to one side. Lips puckering and then pursing into a thin, hard line, she said, "I can feel it, but Rogathe is distant. Sleeping." Her eyes popped open and then narrowed at him. "We have to wake it. Make me mad."

Solas smirked at her. " _Ma nuvenin,"_ he said, his mind panning about for something to quickly incense her without making it into a personal attack that'd be unfair and unseemly and likely untrue. A dozen different ways to reprimand her for her foolish and reckless behavior with the Templars leapt into his mind, but he held back, trying to find a better topic.

And then it hit him. Clearing his throat, Solas spoke in a solemn tone, "There is no way we can escape the Circle, Rosa. The Templars will kill you, Tal, and I, or worse, they will make us Tranquil. It would be best for us to give up." He had to stop, frowning as he wrestled with his own voice, trying to keep the ire out of it. This was something he _definitely_ didn't agree with. "Better for us to live in the Circle as mages serving the Chantry than to be killed or be made Tranquil."

Rosa gnashed her teeth together, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Her shoulders hunched as she shut her eyes, her breathing growing faster and her skin flushing red.

_Success,_ Solas thought, but kept the smile tugging at his lips from taking shape. He could feel the same weighty sensation growing in the Fade and cringed as it swelled, buzzing in the back of his mind like a hornet. It was possible Rosa would be able to bring Rogathe right to the edge of her consciousness but still come up short…

Then, suddenly, Rosa's eyes snapped open and Solas let the slight smile spread over his lips now as he saw her violet irises flash over into brilliant white. Light spilled out from her ears, nostrils, and her mouth. It even lit the whorls and dots of her vallaslin as if they were cracks in her skin.

_Fitting,_ Solas thought, his smile warping into a smirk. Rosa had been marked for Dirthamen, the Dalish false-god of secrets. She certainly had her fair share of secrets.

"Rogathe, I presume?" Solas asked with a respectful nod.

Rosa blinked at him. With her eyes a uniform shade of dazzling white, he had no way to discern whether she—or, more correctly, Rogathe—was looking at him or through him or around him. Still, he felt the spirit's gaze on him like heat thrown from flame. Then, the spirit offered him a closed-lipped smile. "Hello, Revas," it said in a voice far deeper than Rosa's. "Or should I call you Pride?"

_______________________________________

Author notes from original posting:

I recently acquired Katy Perry's "Dark Horse" and listening to it kind of makes me think of Rosa. Because Solas just was not ready for her. I worried her secret came out here too quickly, but she has a lot more Solas doesn't know about. There's a big one I won't reveal until the very end that I hope will really come out of left field, though I also hope this one took most people by surprise...or maybe everyone. I struggled with when Solas would see it and after her outbursts at their meal and the drama over the pendant I thought he should recognize it. He's a smart cookie.

**Next Chapter**

"Who are you?" Rosa asked, shaking her head.

Pushing off from the table to scoot his chair out a bit, the dwarf hopped to stand atop it and bowed, uncaring at the wide-eyed stares his antics drew from the rest of the dining hall. "The name's Varric Tethras," he introduced himself. "Rogue, storyteller, and fellow prisoner." Dropping back into his seat, Varric turned to Rosa first and asked, "And you are…?"

"Still not interested in lyrium," Rosa rejoined, shooting him a suspicious glare.


	7. Pride Meets Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Demons and spirits are not so different from one another. They are two sides of the same coin."—Wynne (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Solas talks with Rogathe, the spirit possessing Rosa. The three elves have an unexpected meeting with Thedas' most popular author.

Rogathe, inside Rosa, stared at Solas, awaiting his reply. Uncertainty stilled Solas' tongue. He wasn't certain whether the spirit had the ability to read him well or at all while inside Rosa. Depending on its age, it might know his identity simply by _remembering him._ Sharing Rosa's body hid and shielded it from reading him in the physical plane. Yet Solas realized he could be wrong yet again in how much it could ferret out simply by being in his presence.

But the true concern here was whether Rosa would remember any of this. He had little experience with possession as it'd been relatively rare in Elvhenan. It was a phenomena brought on by the Veil primarily. Because he wasn't sure, Solas decided it'd be best to elude the spirit's question.

"I have been called many things," he told it, smiling politely. "But I understand Rosa and her clan called you Rogathe. You are a spirit of bravery?"

It nodded. "I am," it answered, voice gruff. "And _you_ are afraid."

"I believe a better term for what I am feeling would be anxiety," Solas admitted, still smiling. "But I'd prefer if we discussed _Rosa_ and yourself rather than me."

"Rosa has many fears, but not as many as you. It is a weakness unbecoming of one such as you, so advanced in age." Rogathe-Rosa turned on her heel and lifted her arms, as if trying to embrace the Fade.

Solas felt the tremor pass through the dreamscape and shuddered as it rolled over him. A moment later he saw the stone walls of the tower had risen around them in the Fade. They stood in a room filled with countertops as working spaces and shelves lining the walls, each filled with magical trinkets. First Enchanter Braden stood over one such counter just a few steps away from Solas, hunched over an orb with whirling grooves over its grayish surface.

The foci.

"So many of your fears aren't things you can fight," Rogathe said as it strode through the room of magical trinkets. Its gait was slightly slumped, as if relaxed…or bored. "I dislike abstractions," it complained with a growl that was almost comical as Rosa's feminine voice cracked a bit in delivering it. "But this one is concrete." Rogathe gestured toward the Fade-construct of Braden fumbling with the foci. "I like that. It's simple enough, isn't it? You must fight your way to reclaim what is rightfully yours. Rosa and I and her brother will aid you."

"Currently, as I lack the strength to fight and win, engaging them would be foolish and would only bring on my death," Solas said patiently. He remained where he'd been earlier, when Rogathe had used Rosa to reshape the Fade into its present state. Now that meant he stood beside a wall with a shelf loaded with magical items. To his right Solas saw the pendant Rosa had worn to keep Rogathe contained. Beside it, however, he saw the black lacquered wolf jawbone he had worn as part of his ensemble with the wolf headdress while interacting with troops in Elvhenan.

He started to reach for it and then hesitated, letting his hand fall back to his side as he frowned thoughtfully. If Rogathe could read his memories and thoughts even from inside Rosa—as it seemed he most definitely could—perhaps that explained some of the Dalish woman's contention that he'd been lying.

"You possess the strength," Rogathe insisted, scowling. "You are an Evanuris. The Fade trembles at your every whim. You shine with the brilliance of the sun. Spirits bend to your will. Fade ether runs in your veins as blood."

"I am no more capable than Rosa is," Solas hedged, deliberately leaving Rogathe's comments unacknowledged. If Rosa recalled this conversation…

"Nonsense!" Rogathe shouted, thrusting one clenched fist up into the air as if in rallying cry. "With enough effort and bravery, you can overcome all. If you _will_ it _hard_ enough. If you are _brave_ enough."

Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with frustration. Rogathe was, as he'd feared, a fairly simple spirit. It emulated bravery and pushed those who interacted with it to face their fears. If warped it could grow into a fear demon, recreating sleepers' horrors in the Fade as nightmares to encourage them to overcome them without understanding that in the Fade that served no purpose except to terrify. Yet Rogathe could also become a mindless thing of carnage that would force Rosa into battle regardless of how stupid or hopeless. It could also warp into a pride demon if its host proved powerful enough. But, thankfully, for the moment it seemed untainted…although foolhardy.

It seemed to be a younger spirit, formed after the Veil. As such, Rogathe had little experience or understanding of the waking world. It didn't understand that a mouse could not defeat a dragon using will and bravery alone. Undoubtedly it had been learning since joining physically with Rosa, but not enough, apparently, to comprehend that physical strength impacted the outcome of a battle as much or more than willpower. It favored brawn over wits, bravery over cunning. And, considering its host was a Dreamer capable of reshaping the Fade with ease, it wasn't going to learn how vastly different the waking world was all that quickly because Rosa spent a great deal of time dreaming.

Switching topics, Solas asked, "You have seen the Templars, have you not?"

Rogathe snarled with disgust. "Of course. They are cowards. They herd together like prey animals, bristling with their fear of magic and of me and my ilk. They are bullies and savages, high on imagined glory." Rosa's voice dropped an octave, cracking again at the ferocity of Rogathe's vehemence. "I will rend them apart, scatter their essence. They will rue the day they laid hands on Rosa!"

"Do you understand that if the Templars discover you are within Rosa they will kill her?" Solas asked, voice sharp and eyes locked on Rogathe-Rosa across the dreamscape.

"I know this," Rogathe replied with a nod. Its lips curled in a sneer. "The cowards dare threaten _my_ charge!" With a violent slash of one arm, Rogathe sent out a flash of white light that caught the Fade-construct of First Enchanter Braden in the back, making him yelp and stagger, dropping the orb onto the countertop with a metallic thud.

Ignoring the bluster, Solas pressed on. "Your purpose is to protect her, is that not correct?"

"That is my purpose," Rogathe answered, glaring at Braden as the Fade-construct cowered. "I must protect Rosa with my bravery. I once watched over her clan as well. But she is alone now, except for Tal and I." It lifted its head and Solas felt its stare land on him, the intense white light from what had once been Rosa's eyes seeming to scald him. "And there is you. We did not expect _you._ "

 _Let's not talk about me,_ Solas thought and restrained the urge to frown, keeping his expression impassive. "By remaining in Rosa physically you are endangering her, Rogathe," he said, gently. "You must release her and return to the Fade. The Veil is thin within the tower. If she needs you it will be easy for you to return to her."

First Enchanter Braden burst upright then and sprang toward the door, shoulders hunched with fear. Rogathe's blistering stare followed him, its head swiveling gradually. Its lips curled in a snarl, revealing the glimmering ivory light emanating from Rosa's every pore. "I am no coward who would abandon my charge when faced with danger."

"There are things about the world beyond the Veil that you do not understand, Rogathe," Solas said, a note of pleading entering his voice. He stepped closer to the possessed woman, moving with slow, cautious steps. "You must have noticed some of them by now."

Its brow furrowed. "I have…" it hedged. Cocking its head, it added, "I have seen you, Tal, and dozens of others slink and cower before these cowardly Templars. I know you are no coward, yet you do not fight. You do not act with bravery. I have felt you and Tal holding Rosa back. Why do you deny her? It is her nature to struggle and fight." It frowned, shaking its head. "She is a spirit of honor and courage. I will _not_ let her be chained or destroyed."

Of course, being young and simpleminded, Rogathe also lacked an understanding of _deceit._ It saw Solas and Tal and all the other mages' self-restraining behavior as incomprehensible. Pushed far enough, it might turn against Solas and even Tal, believing them cowards. For now, however, it seemed to hold them as merely baffling. That was another positive sign that Rogathe remained untainted by Rosa and the physical plane. If and when Rogathe learned the value of deceit and manipulation as a means to preserve Rosa's life, _then_ it could become a pride demon. At that point it could refuse to leave Rosa out of selfish reasons, finding life beyond the Veil more stimulating than inside the Fade. Currently, however, Solas' challenge would be to convince Rogathe that it endangered Rosa more than it protected her. Unfortunately, it seemed Rogathe interpreted leaving Rosa as a betrayal of its purpose and of itself and its nature.

"But the Templars will be less likely to harm her if you are not with her," Solas told it evenly.

"I will _always_ be with her," Rogathe snapped, glaring.

"Physically," Solas corrected. "You will of course watch over her from the Fade. I misspoke earlier. It is only your presence within her that places her at risk." Licking his lips, he changed tactics. "You understand that if she dies her spirit will not join you in the Fade? She will be lost to you. Forever. If you wish to preserve her, you must withdraw from her while she is in this tower. Come to her again only if she calls."

Rogathe scowled, staring at Solas with what might have been a contemplative look on its face. Sadly, because the spirit manifested with so much light, peeking from Rosa's eyes, nose, mouth, vallaslin, and ears, it was difficult to gauge what was happening in its mind. Whatever it was, however, Solas was confident it would be honest whenever it expressed its thoughts.

Finally, Rogathe nodded. "I concede there may be wisdom in your words, Pride."

"Please," Solas said, lifting one hand in a _stop_ gesture, palm facing outward toward Rogathe. "Call me Revas." Swallowing, he bit back the question riding on his tongue: _Will Rosa remember our conversation?_

Rogathe gritted its teeth, the brightness of it bringing moisture to Solas' eyes. "But that is untrue."

"You understand that Rosa, like all mortals—and myself—is not a creature bound to one ideal the way you and other spirits are?" Solas asked in a patient, lecturer's tone.

Rogathe shifted from one foot to the other, cocking its head. "I have observed that, yes."

"Well," Solas went on, smiling. "I have chosen a new name to remind myself of the ideal I wish to achieve above all others. _Revas._ Freedom. To that end, you have my word I will lend whatever strength I possess to protect Rosa and her brother." His stomach clenched on itself as he wondered whether he was lying to the spirit now. If Rosa remembered this conversation once Rogathe slipped away, could Solas truly risk allowing her to live if she figured out who he truly was? He had no way of knowing if she and Tal would join him if he tried to recruit them to his cause. Considering their heritage as Dalish, it seemed highly unlikely.

The safest course of action was to kill her…

"So _Revas_ is as true as _Solas,"_ Rogathe finished for him with a grunt, indelicate and awkward in Rosa's mouth. It pinched its lips together, brow furrowing. "The world beyond the Veil is a baffling place," it complained. "That is why I am willing to do as you say. That, and I know _you_ have more experience and wisdom than I." It nodded, seemingly satisfied. "A warrior must know when to yield to the advice of a veteran."

Smiling, Solas dipped his head in a deep nod of respect. _"Ma serannas,"_ he thanked the spirit.

"And," Rogathe went on, "I know Rosa has seen more danger in this tower than Tal. If that is because of my influence on her and because I endanger her…" It let out a huffing breath. "Then it is my duty to leave her, physically."

Nodding somberly, Solas smiled with relief. "I am pleased you agree, Rogathe." Clenching his jaw and averting his gaze to the floor then, Solas asked, "Before you leave us, I wonder if you might know whether Rosa will recall any of this conversation?" His mind spun quickly, finding a lie he hoped simpleminded Rogathe would believe. "If she is aware beneath the surface I will have no need to summarize or explain what transpired."

Rogathe's mouth worked, twisting. "And if she recalls it she will tell you so."

Solas' hands curled into fists at his side for a split second before he forced himself to relax again, to hide his unease and tension. "Please, Rogathe. I am somewhat unfamiliar with physical possession. I would like to learn more of how such a thing functions."

"In your time spirits had little need to take a body because they did not have to cross the Veil," Rogathe said with a knowing nod. It wasn't a question. The spirit knew who he was and what he had done, even if it hadn't seen any of it directly. "Pride takes great joy in learning, yes. And it is a brave thing to seek out the truth, no matter how hard it is."

Its eyes narrowed, somehow making the brightness of its white glowing eyes even harsher. "That is one of your biggest fears as well," it commented. "To accept the truth of this shadow-world _you_ created." Rogathe squared its shoulders and strode closer to him, authoritative and confident. It walked with the swagger of a warrior, militant and efficient, with no concern for how loud its bare feet thumped over the wooden floor.

Solas' spine stiffened as he watched Rogathe draw nearer. "Do not concern yourself with my fears. It is not something you can fix, Rogathe."

"Not I, no," Rogathe agreed and grinned. "It is _you_ who must be brave. None can do it for you. But you already know that, just as you already know the truth of this world." Abruptly, Rogathe snatched his hand, making Solas flinch slightly and tense though he didn't pull away. He watched as Rogathe brought his hand to rest over Rosa's chest, over the beating of her heart. "It is real. _She_ is real. Tal is real. The cowardly Templars are real. The mages in the tower are real. _All_ of them are real. As real as you, Pride."

Snatching his hand away from Rogathe-Rosa, Solas repeated his earlier question, harsher now: "Will she remember this discussion?" His heart thundered in his ears, an unceasing wave beating on the shores of his own inner sea.

Rogathe stared at him blankly. "She sleeps." It tapped its chest. "In here. But I cannot say if she dreams this."

It wasn't a firm _no_ , but it was better than the alternative. Solas nodded and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His heart quieted and the constriction in his chest eased. "My thanks, Rogathe."

"What I can say," Rogathe began, raising one finger as if to interject a new point, "is that Rosa is brave. She drew my gaze years ago when she faced a bear to save another creature from death at its claws. Since then I have seen her dive into an icy river to save a drowning child and fight bullies at the Arlathvhen who taunted Tal. I have seen her fight, fearless and ferocious and proud, to protect her clan even at the cost of her own life. And I have seen her accept her clan's punishment and walk alone into the wilderness without a word." It paused a beat and then added, "After such hardship, I should think that accepting the ancient truths of an old wolf would not be so great a challenge."

Rogathe stared at him hard, eyes narrowed. Solas felt the challenge in its gaze as a heat licking his skin and rippling the Fade. Although he had only witnessed the memory of the bandit attack here in the Fade, Solas had no doubt that Rogathe spoke the truth regarding Rosa's other exploits of bravery. But as for its proclamation about _ancient truths_ and an _old wolf_ …

 _No._ How brave Rosa or anyone was had little to do with how trustworthy they'd be if they learned his true identity and purpose. As a simpleminded spirit, Rogathe couldn't understand that. If anything, Rosa's bravery made it more likely she would choose to oppose him. What could be braver, after all, than pitting oneself against a being feared and reviled as a maleficent god?

"I appreciate your advice," Solas said, smiling politely. "And I shall bear it in mind. I hope we meet again, Rogathe."

The spirit smiled, tightlipped, and its eyes fluttered shut, closing off the light glowing from it. Then the light dimmed, flickering. Rosa's body blurred with it and she swayed on her feet. The Fade seemed to shrink in on itself, darkening as her consciousness diminished. Solas felt his own body react, skin prickling with gooseflesh and flushing warm.

Then Rosa gasped and fell forward. Solas darted in to catch her, both hands on her shoulders, but her body passed through his palms. Alarmed, Solas pivoted to search for her, eyes wide, only to relax again as he realized what'd happened. She'd disappeared from the Fade, snapping awake.

 _I must see if she remembers any of this,_ he thought with a sharp inhalation. _And I must know if Rogathe has left her._

Closing his eyes, Solas willed himself awake.

____________________________________

Sitting upright suddenly in his bunk, Solas clunked his forehead on the underside of the cot above him. Hissing with pain, he rubbed at the skin, blinking as he got his bearings and the effects of the blow faded.

The apprentice barracks were silent except for the soft rustle of mages turning over in their sleep and the dozens of little puffing noises as they all breathed. Yet, over those quieter sounds, he also heard a more ragged breath somewhere further down the line of bunks. It had a vaguely feminine quality that immediately made him suspect it was Rosa.

Tossing aside his covers, Solas pulled himself out of the bed, grimacing with the aching pain that stabbed through his muscles as he did so. His bare feet whisked over the floor and his robes rustled softly as he moved through the darkness, making his way to the bed where he'd heard the rough breathing. Through the dimness he made out a shape sitting upright in the lower cot of a bunk, curled forward and holding its head as it rocked back and forth. It was small in shape, lean like a human child would be, but also the right shape to be an elven woman.

Hearing him, it turned round to look at him and Solas saw moisture glittering in dark eyes, surrounded by a halo of hair that appeared black in the dimness. Even in the lowlight Solas recognized it was Rosa, as he'd suspected.

"Rogathe," she rasped quietly. _"I felt it try to leave me,"_ she said, using elven.

Kneeling at her bedside, biting back the grunt of pain as he did so, Solas said, _"It agreed to leave. Has it not done so?"_

" _I can still feel it,"_ she said and then asked, her voice small and wavering just slightly, " _It's not a demon, is it?"_

Solas shook his head in the negative. _"Rogathe is a spirit of bravery that thinks very highly of you. It is not a demon."_ He frowned, watching her through the darkness. _"It should have left you, lethallan."_

The covers in the bunk above Rosa rustled as the apprentice there sat up with a gasp. "What? What is that?" Solas recognized Tal's familiar voice and saw the young elf's shape sitting upright in the bunk, whipping his head about with confusion. "No," he mumbled. "No more halla milk."

As Tal flopped back to the cot, groaning drowsily, Rosa snorted quietly in the dark. Her lips spread wide with amusement, though her voice was a touch too soft when she spoke. "Oh Tal."

Glancing to the nearest window, Solas saw the faint hint of bluish light from dawn. It wouldn't be long now until they had to rise for the day.

Licking his lips, Solas whispered, _"We will try again tonight."_ An idea had crept into his mind, as sharp and jagged as lightning. With Rogathe ready and willing to slip back into the Fade, Rosa should be free of it. Yet she wasn't. The only one left to hold it there was Rosa herself.

She looked at him and her jaw clenched as she nodded. There was no hint of hesitation or uncertainty, no slouch of weariness or defeat in her shoulders. But her eyes, though dark in the blackness of the barracks, were unguarded. Her lips curled in a small smile. "Ma serannas," she thanked him.

Solas gripped the edge of her bed, hauling himself upright again with a strangled grunt of pain. As he strode back to his bed, his thoughts returned to Rogathe's comments about Rosa's bravery. Though this attempt had failed, she had no reservations about another. He knew she would keep trying; keep fighting, no matter how futile. If she could be recruited to his cause, if she could prove loyal, she'd make an ideal agent with such a mindset…

 _No,_ he scolded himself. _Fenedhis, have you lost your senses?_ The image of Rogathe's brilliant face flashed before his mind's eye as Solas tucked himself back into his cot and settled down once more. He recalled the light blazing through the delicate dots and stripes of her vallaslin and reminded himself she was Dalish and every clan he'd visited in the dreaming had scorned him. Why should clan Naseral and this woman be any different? Because a foolhardy, young, and simpleminded spirit vouched for her? Because she reminded him of Mythal? Because he found her intriguing and attractive?

 _Stop that,_ he ordered himself and rubbed at his face with frustration. That was only his traitorous body; hungering for a treat he had not enjoyed for…he realized he didn't know exactly how long it'd been. Swallowing the groan of irritation building in his throat, Solas closed his eyes and let the Fade take him.

* * *

Now that he could walk without being in intolerable levels of pain, the mages who assigned the apprentices with daily chores and who had been bringing Solas his meals, now put him to work. That morning, despite his slow pace, he was instructed to dust bookshelves in the library. Afterwards, the mages encouraged him to rest and read whatever he liked. They anticipated he would soon join with the other apprentices in studying.

So it was that, with a long broom and a feather duster, Solas found himself in an enormous circular room, two stories tall and covered wall-to-wall in bookshelves. Despite expecting the books to be inaccurate, droll, or even infuriating, Solas couldn't stop the swell of emotions that rose within him at the sight of it.

The massive space was cavernous but warm, decorated with painted frescoes along the ceiling and over several paneled wall sections where plush chairs in pale gray leather. Braziers sat in strategic points around both the first and second story, lit with magefire that glowed white-yellow, providing an impressive amount of illumination for reading. A few doorways led off to halls or classrooms along the second floor where mages and enchanters would likely retreat to study or read or conduct special courses.

Though this was nothing compared to the library construct Solas' father had worked in as an archivist, managing the network of spirits in charge of serving patrons, it still brought on nostalgia. An ache began in his chest, burning and sharp, at the reminder of all that had been lost in Elvhenan—at _his_ hand. He wondered what the construct looked like now, if it had even survived the Veil at all.

Sighing, he put those thoughts from his mind and set to work. The musty smell of old books filled Solas' nose as he began dusting in a circuit around the first floor. His muscles ached from use already, but it was tolerable and scanning the titles on the spines of the books gave him a pleasant distraction. He worked slowly but methodically, pausing often to pull a book from the shelf and page through it.

Mages came and went as he worked, paying him little mind, which suited Solas well enough, but as he reached the second floor, he heard whispered voices from a classroom. Continuing to work, he made an effort to be extra quiet, hoping to covertly overhear the discussion, but the closed door muffled most of it. In spite of it, however, he made out male and female voices repeating _Kirkwall_ several times. It seemed clear these were mages or perhaps even enchanters or senior enchanters discussing the events of Kirkwall.

 _Promising,_ he thought before continuing to the next bookshelf. From the first floor he heard a voice call out, "Revas?" It was the mage who'd assigned him this chore, come to summon him to lunch. Leaving his tools where they were for the present, Solas slowly and cautiously made his way down the stairs, clinging to the railing the whole way. His muscles quivered with the effort by the time he reached the bottom but he followed the mage out and down several flights of stairs without complaint. She took the journey at a relaxed pace for his benefit, casting him constant looks over her shoulder. Solas pretended not to notice, concentrating on walking through the mounting pain in his legs and arms from all the use over the last few hours.

As with yesterday, Tal found him after he arrived in the dining hall and helped him carry his tray to their spot. Rosa smiled at him, tightlipped but genuine as he approached. "Revas," she said. "Later than usual. You're going to have to wolf your food down to finish before they chase us out of here."

Indeed, he saw their trays were mostly empty except for bread crusts and crumbs. He hummed in his throat to acknowledge her and then set upon his food, biting ravenously into his sandwich as Tal sat next to him.

 _"Ma serannas, hahren,"_ Tal told him, wearing a somber smile over his lips. Still chewing his meal, Solas arched an eyebrow in silent question. Tal chuckled, his deep brown eyes sliding to Rosa quickly before he explained, "For helping Rosa."

Swallowing his mouthful, Solas shook his head. "There is no need to thank me." He sighed. "I was not successful."

"But next time you will be," Tal said with a grin. "I know it."

Rosa snorted, smirking at her brother. "Please forgive Tal's gushing. He's an optimist."

"You do not believe we will be successful?" Solas asked her, restraining a frown.

"I never said that," Rosa said, lifting both hands palms up in a motion as if to ward off an attack of words. "I just never count my halla before they're born."

"Please forgive Rosa's grumpiness," Tal said in a playful tone meant to lightly mock his sister. "She's a _pessimist."_

" _Realist,"_ Rosa corrected him, index finger raised to note her point. "Sometimes that means I get to be pleasantly surprised, you know. Halla frequently have twin fawns. So it all equals out." She shrugged and then began idly pushing a bit of bread crust around on her tray. "But… _ma serannas, hahren,_ " she added with a soft exhalation, eyes drifting shut and shoulders slumping with relief. "If you succeed tonight I will owe you a life-debt."

Unsure of what to say to that, Solas redoubled his efforts to finish his meal after merely nodding in acknowledgement to Rosa.

"Yes," Tal piped up, beaming beside him. "Perhaps we can help you find a clan to join someday…"

"Keep your voice down," Rosa scolded softly, glancing around quickly. None of the other apprentices seemed to care, luckily, and Tal hadn't spoken all that loudly. Satisfied that they weren't in any danger, she faced forward again, her violet eyes darting back and forth between Solas and Tal. Then, with that now-familiar coy smile spreading over her mouth, she thumped her fingers over the wooden table and announced, "It's time to liven things up a bit before they drive us back to chores and the useless classes. How about a game? Or storytelling?"

"Sick of hearing about Andraste already?" Tal asked, waggling both eyebrows at her.

Rosa scoffed, nose wrinkling. "Sylaise help me, _yes._ " Rolling her eyes, she groaned for theatrical effect.

"It's an interesting story," Tal said with a shrug. "I'll give it that much."

"It wouldn't be so bad if they told the _full_ story," Rosa said, grinning slyly. "Like the part about Shartan and Andraste. My favorite is when Shartan gives Andraste his sword."

Having consumed his sandwich and most of the buttery peas that went with it, Solas decided to contribute to the discussion. Shartan had been one of the momentary bright points of the People's history. Watching it from the Fade had given Solas a thrill of triumph…and more than a little personal satisfaction as _he_ had had a hand in guiding the elven slaves through dreams into rebellion against Tevinter. Clearing his throat, Solas said, "I believe you're mistaken, _lethallan._ It was Andraste who gifted Shartan with her sword."

Both Rosa and Tal glanced at him, expressions of amusement coloring their faces. Tal blushed and stared down into his tray while Rosa sniggered under her breath. Staring at them, Solas realized he'd misinterpreted the lilt of their conversation. Rosa had purposefully mismatched things in connection with Shartan's _sword._

Biting back a groan at their antics, Solas shook his head and returned to eating his peas. "Very funny, _da'lenen,"_ he said dryly.

"The People have way better stories than these shemlen anyway," Tal said, leaning back in his chair. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, Tal launched into a story, his voice dropping an octave. "Once, long ago, there were no dwarves and no shemlen. Only the People walked the world, and the first of us—the greatest of us—were the Creators."

Solas listened politely, but inwardly he let his thoughts, and his gaze, wander to Rosa. Rogathe should have left her the previous night. The fact that it hadn't suggested Rosa kept it trapped. Unconsciously. He watched her face as Tal's story went on. Solas had heard this tale before, although slightly altered he suspected, all the way back in Elvhenan. It was an explanation myth, a legend to account for the dwarven people and why they were so different from the Elvhen. Even back in Elvhenan Solas had thought it ridiculous. Dwarves were _not_ created from elves, _not_ shaped by the Evanuris…

"In those days," Tal went on, "the People lived underground as well, digging in the earth for riches and metal. One day, great Mythal, protector and mother of the People, went to visit one of these belowground cities. There she met with—"

A gravelly voice cut into Tal's tale, saying, "Mind if I cut in?"

All three elves turned to stare at the newcomer—a stout dwarf with strawberry blond hair and a jaw covered in bristly stubble standing beside their table on Rosa's side. Tal's mouth went slack as he reacted first, his cheeks flushing red. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he stammered.

The dwarf shrugged good-naturedly. "Eh, I get that a lot." He sat next to Rosa without being asked, setting his tray down with a clatter.

Rosa frowned at him, apparently disapproving of his abrupt insertion into their group. Solas kept his expression neutral, though he couldn't stop himself from sneaking quick, curious glances at this dwarf. Because dwarves were dreamless, having never known the Fade—at least within Solas' lifetime—he knew very little of them or their history. Encountering them in Elvhenan had been fairly rare as well. With only a few exceptions, Solas had hardly even _spoken_ to a dwarf previously.

"Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home," Rosa quipped. "But if you're here to hawk lyrium then—"

The dwarf cut her off with a guffaw. "Hardly, Violet. I'm here because you three by far look like the most interesting people in the room."

"Violet?" Rosa repeated, her expression warping with bemusement.

Solas remained silent, eyeing the dwarf as he spooned more peas into his mouth.

"How's that?" Tal asked. "Because we're Dalish?"

Now Solas frowned, chuckling dryly. "That cannot be the answer, _lethallin_ , as I clearly forgot to don my vallaslin this morning."

The dwarf laughed, grinning at Solas a moment before he pointed one meaty finger in his direction. "You got that right, Chuckles."

 _Chuckles?_ He smirked at the moniker and returned to consuming the last of his peas.

"Okay," the dwarf said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them as he looked over each of the elves around him. "You three are the most interesting bunch of this lot because you're _adults._ " Motioning at the other tables and the apprentices nearby—nearly all of whom had stopped their meals and conversations to stare at the dwarf—he added, "Everyone else in here are just kids. But you three?" He quirked an eyebrow. "There's a story here and I intend to hear it."

"Who are you?" Rosa asked, shaking her head.

Pushing off from the table to scoot his chair out a bit, the dwarf hopped to stand atop it and bowed, uncaring at the wide-eyed stares his antics drew from the rest of the dining hall. "The name's Varric Tethras," he introduced himself. "Rogue, storyteller, and fellow prisoner." Dropping back into his seat, Varric turned to Rosa first and asked, "And you are…?"

"Still not interested in lyrium," Rosa rejoined, shooting him a suspicious glare.

Varric sighed. "Let me guess, your clan told you all surface dwarves are lyrium smugglers? Hate to break it to you, but it's not always true. Granted…" He grimaced. "I have my fair share of Carta contacts, too. But point is…" He drifted off, scowling. "Never mind." Gesturing toward Tal next he said, "How about you, Stoic? What's your story? You and Violet come from the same clan or…?"

"I'm Tal," he replied. "That's Rosa." He pointed to his sister and grinned when she glared at him. Then he indicated Solas next. "And this is Revas."

"A pleasure," Varric said to them, nodding toward each elf. "Now, how's about you finish that story you were telling?"

"Oh, _that_ one?" Tal's face was beet red and he suddenly stared down at his tray in fascination, picking at a chip in the corner of the ceramic. "Not that old thing, really."

"Why not? A Dalish story about _dwarves?_ Sounds interesting to me. I collect stories, you know. Daisy was full of them. Oh," he broke off, shooting them a sheepish look. "Daisy was a friend of mine, a Dalish woman." He elbowed Rosa. "Like you. Kinda." Rosa's only response was to narrow her eyes and so Varric puffed out a breath, seeming to give up. "Never mind. Anyway…if you won't tell me the Dalish story, why not tell me how you three came to be the oldest and oddest apprentices in this tower?"

"That tale is simple, Child of the Stone," Solas said, smiling tightly. "Myself, Rosa, and Tal were captured recently by Templars."

"Together?" Varric asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Because _that's_ the interesting part. I've known enough elves to know city elves and Dalish aren't big on each other. So, what makes you three different?"

"Nothing," Rosa interjected, frowning. "Just mutual hatred of imprisonment."

Varric grunted in a dry laugh. "Well, count me in on that."

"You're no mage," Solas pointed out, staring at the dwarf with curiosity. "Why are _you_ imprisoned in this Circle?"

Varric rapped his fingers over the table, his mouth pinching into a hard line. Twisting at the waist, he turned to search over the rest of the room in a swift, furtive motion. Rosa and Tal exchanged meaningful glances while the dwarf's head was turned before shooting the same look at Solas—a mixture of intrigue and suspicion. All three of them cleared their expressions as Varric faced them again and haltingly explained.

"I'm not trapped in this Circle, exactly. I'm…uh, kind of a…hostage, I guess, more than a prisoner." He flashed a tight grin. "See, I'm from Kirkwall and I had a close friend involved in the chaos there."

Solas let his surprise show, both eyebrows lifting into his forehead. Rosa and Tal, meanwhile, wore deadpan or solemn looks in response to this news. Varric kept his tight smile in place as he continued: "And that brought me to the Divine's personal attention." He winced. "And so she sent her pet Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, after me."

"Seeker Pentaghast?" Tal interjected, beaming. "The Lady Seeker the tower's been whispering about?" His voice took on a note of reverence. "The Seeker of _Truth._ " Leaning closer to Varric, he asked quietly, "Rosa and I shouldn't be here. We're Dalish, on our way to join another clan. Can the Seeker help set us free?"

Rosa started to interrupt, shaking her head vehemently. "Tal, don't start," she warned. Her violet eyes landed on Solas and stayed there, crinkling with something like concern.

 _She fears Varric_ will _be able to influence this Seeker into setting them free,_ he realized. Such good fortune would be a wonderful surprise and boon for the Dalish siblings, but it didn't help Solas any. Rosa had apparently been genuine in her claim that she would owe him a life-debt. It seemed she had no intention of leaving him alone in this tower, even if it endangered herself.

 _Of course she has no fear of endangering herself,_ he thought with a flash of irritation. Rosa and Rogathe would consider leaving the tower on a technicality and with the Seeker's mercy as a cowardly retreat that left their comrade behind.

Varric had produced a silver flask from a pocket in his coat and taken a long swig of it while Tal and Rosa spoke. With a loud, satisfied _ahhh_ and a smack of his lips, he refocused on the three of them with a hard grin. "Let me get this straight, Stoic. You want me to try and convince Seeker Pentaghast to knock some heads around and set you free?"

Tal fidgeted, eyes flicking between Rosa and Solas and then back to Varric. He grimaced. "It was a stupid idea, I'm sorry I—"

"Let me tell you about the Lady Seeker," Varric said, smirking as he rolled his wrist, making the fluid in the flask slosh about. "For weeks now she's been dragging me across the Free Marches, interrogating me about my friend and what happened in Kirkwall. That's the only _truth_ she cares about right now, but she'd probably be _thrilled_ to knock some heads around just for the fun of it."

"So…she _might_ help us?" Tal asked, tight with uncertainty.

"Tal," Rosa growled, shaking her head. To Varric she spoke sharply, "We don't want the Seeker's help."

Ignoring Rosa and speaking to Tal, Varric said, "She _might_ help you, or she _might_ just bust your balls and stab you in the book if you don't cower enough for her." He scoffed. "The woman's a harpy."

 _Stab you in the…book?_ Solas wondered but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Then we _definitely_ don't want her help," Rosa repeated, staring at Tal in silent reprimand.

Her brother cringed at the look, then shrugged and glanced to Solas with an awkward smile. "Worth a shot, right?"

"Perhaps," Solas hedged, though he managed to work up a smile to reassure the younger elf. "I cannot fault you for trying."

"So," Varric said, drawling out the single word as his eyes jumped from one elf to another, sparkling with amusement. "I still smell that story here. Care to share?"

"I'm sorry, dwarf, but that smell you mentioned is probably us," Rosa grumbled with a dry smirk. "Not some juicy story. The Templars don't exactly let us bathe as often as we'd like."

Unable to resist, Solas stared at her with feigned shock. "The Dalish bathe? I was not aware of this."

Rosa snorted, though her violet eyes warmed with amusement, aware he was teasing. "Ha-ha, flat-ear." Varric was laughing with delight while Tal sniggered quietly.

Enjoying their levity, Solas decided to continue in the same vein. He pressed closer over the table, ignoring the protests of his back muscles with the motion, and asked quietly, "Tell me, _da'len,_ do they bathe with the halla? Or indulge in great luxuries such as soap?"

"Oh, yes," Rosa answered, smirking as she shifted slightly in her spot to better face him. "We most certainly do bathe with our halla. They help scrub our backs. So difficult to get some spots otherwise."

"I should think that would prove painful, _da'len,_ " he said with a closed-lipped smile to answer hers. "Considering their hooves." 

"Well," Rosa said with a wink. "Sometimes we ditch the halla and take a friend instead."

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed inwardly. Her salacious tone had made him flush with warmth and pushed a faint image of something…erotic into his mind. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze to his tray and murmured, "Fascinating, _da'len_ —though I suspect not very efficient for achieving cleanliness."

Now Rosa made a face of mock-scandal, covering her mouth with one hand and gasping through her fingers. "I said a _friend,_ Revas. Mythal preserve me, what were you thinking of?"

Scoffing, Solas frowned, using irritation to mask his embarrassment. "Are you quite finished?" he groused.

"Are you?" she rejoined, smirking at him a second before slowly, deliberately, adding, "Flat-ear."

"Are they always like this?" Varric asked Tal, flashing a lopsided smile. "Or is this just for my benefit?"

Tal's eyes were locked on the silver flask Varric had left on his tray. "Both, probably. Any chance you'd be willing to give me a taste there? They don't give us wine until dinner and it tastes like the Dread Wolf's piss."

Solas winced at the curse, breaking his long stare down with Rosa, who seemed to delight in his unease. He tried to minimize his reaction, knowing she would see it and likely take advantage of it later. At least the lighthearted and facetious nature of this conversation had kept Rosa calm through the meal.

Laughing, Varric grabbed up his flask in his meaty hands. "I hear you there, Stoic. No Chantry-sanctioned institution has ever served a decent wine that I've seen. You can—"

"Mealtime's finished," a voice shouted from the doorway, followed by a loud clapping as the mage who'd come to shepherd the apprentices out of the dining hall tried to ensure he had everyone's full attention. "Please return to your afternoon classes and chores."

"Looks like our time's up," Varric said with a sigh. He tucked the flask back in his coat and shot Tal an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Stoic. Don't want to get you in trouble."

Rising to his feet with Rosa, Tal shrugged. "Thanks anyway, Darric."

"Varric," the dwarf corrected, pushing back from the table just enough that he could prop his short legs up on it, crossed at the ankle as he reclined in a seat that was very much too big for him. "Varric Tethras. I take it you haven't read any of my books? _Hard In Hightown? The Tale of the Champion?"_

"You're an author?" Tal asked, eyes widening and mouth spreading wide in a grin. He glanced to Rosa. "Now I know why he wanted to hear our _story_ so badly."

Grunting with effort as he rose from his own chair, Solas smiled at the dwarf and gave a dip of his head in respect. "A pleasure meeting you, Master Tethras. I will make an effort to find and read your works." _Tale of the Champion,_ he thought, interest gnawing at him inside. If the tower's library held that particular book he could find it and read it today even and possibly gather fresh intel on the incident in Kirkwall from a new perspective—someone who hadn't ever dreamt in the Fade.

Now Varric grinned, beaming with satisfaction. "Great, Chuckles." He winked. "Always a pleasure to meet new people, especially if they turn out to be fans."

As they reached the end of their table Rosa was the one to extend her arm out to him, a silent offer of support. Solas stared at her proffered arm, his jaw clenching as ego fought with practicality. His arms and legs did feel heavy, shaky with weakness and fatigue, but he was strong enough to walk unassisted now, albeit slowly. Tal pressed close behind him as Solas' pace faltered with his indecision. "What's the holdup, Revas?"

Rosa arched an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking in a half-formed smile. "C'mon, flat-ear. It's the least I can do."

Letting out a breath in a sigh of surrender, Solas grasped her arm, leaning some of his weight on her. As they started walking for the door in a steady shuffling pace, following the line of other apprentices, Rosa leaned close to him and whispered, "I'm hoping that sodding nughumper Curtis isn't waiting at the door this time, but if he is…"

Her breath was hot where it fanned out on his neck, brushing his earlobe. It was close, intimate space, but not so close as to be inappropriate. Still, for Solas, unable to recall the last time he'd been so close to an elven woman, it was enough to set his heart pounding and his blood afire. He swallowed hard and tried to convince himself not to consider how warm the side of his body facing her was, or how she smelled vaguely of lilac and vanilla somehow. He tried not to feel the sudden sweat that broke out over his body.

"If he is…?" he prompted quietly, staring straight ahead at the approaching doorway as they drew nearer to it. His thoughts buzzed like bees, fragmented and bumbling.

She chuckled. "If he is, well…" As he glanced at her Rosa shot him a playful look that didn't quite touch her eyes. The tension in her radiated through the air. Solas could feel it in her forearm. "You're pretty tall for an elf," she commented. "Even if you're naught but skin and bones, I'm hoping he won't notice me."

"Hiding behind my robes, _da'len?_ " he teased only to grimace a moment later as he saw her brows knit and her mouth twist. Her cheeks and eyes darkened and he felt her muscles snap taut in her forearm. " _Ir abelas,_ " he quickly apologized, throat going dry. "I did not mean—"

"It's fine," she cut him off, sucking in a shaking breath. "I know you're teasing…but…"

"Rogathe does not," Solas guessed with a nod. Changing tactics, he said, "Regardless, I must thank you for your aid. I cannot walk with any speed on my own." It was the truth and something she and Rogathe needed to hear, so they could cleave to him with the certainty they were helping him, not avoiding confrontation out of "cowardice." They passed through the doorway exiting the dining hall and into the hall. Templars stood guard off to their left and right, watching with cold stares as their charges filed past.

Solas let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he saw none of the guards was Ser Curtis. Rosa's posture loosened up beside him and her lips spread in a small smile as she too, apparently, noticed Curtis' absence. "I'm not sure if I'm helping you as much as you're helping me," Rosa murmured quietly.

"Pardon?" Solas asked, brow knitting with confusion.

She shook her head, the loose strands of her brown hair flopping against her neck and temples with the motion. "Don't worry about it," she said, gazing forward. "It's nothing."

Solas found he didn't believe her. Opening his mouth, he started to protest her dismissal when suddenly a voice called out from just ahead of them: "Revas? Apprentice Revas?"

The apprentices ahead of them parted for a Senior Enchanter trotting through the throng toward them. The Senior Enchanter's eyes landed on Solas and widened with recognition as she picked up her pace. Rosa pivoted slightly, moving Solas closer to herself as she leaned in and asked, "Where did they put you to work?"

"The library," he replied, frowning with puzzlement. "Dusting the books. Why do you—"

"So I can find you if something comes up," she answered, grinning. Her other hand, the one not helping support him, rose to clasp his forearm and give it a firm squeeze. "See you soon." Then she broke away, moving to fall into step with Tal, who seamlessly moved to her side with the confidence and surety of a longtime comrade.

"Apprentice Revas," the Senior Enchanter said, drawing Solas' attention forward again. He saw a middle-aged woman he vaguely recognized as having been present when Tal and Rosa underwent their magical assessments. She appeared slightly winded, as if she'd been running to fetch him. Solas stomach clenched, fearful of whatever he was about to learn.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Come with me," the woman said. "The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander have summoned you."

_____________________________________

Elven used

Da'lenan: children

**Next Chapter:**

"So you are a scavenger," the Seeker said, not bothering to hide the slight curl of her upper lip in disgust.

"A _scholar,_ " Solas corrected her with a slight frown, feeling a mild sense of déjà vu at the exchange. Hadn't he had to correct Ser Bartholomew the same way? "I have spent much of my life wandering alone in the wilds, seeking secrets from the past."

"By spelunking in old ruins?" the Seeker clarified, the disapproval radiating from her in waves.

Varric's voice echoed through Solas' mind as he stared at the Seeker. _The woman is a harpy._

_____________________

Author note: In posting these here, I reread all these chapters and just laugh and laugh at the funny bits. I *adore* the Varric-Cassandra dynamic and rereading this just reminds me of that. The woman is a harpy! And the flirtation between Solas and Rosa kills me. 


	8. Dreaming Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck the Divine."—Grand Enchanter Fiona (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Solas meets the Right Hand of the Divine and learns more about Rosa's clan and heritage.

The Senior Enchanter led Solas to Knight-Commander Kali's office again, his second visit in as many days. She rapped on the door with a little knock and Kali's voice called out from within, "It's open."

The Senior Enchanter pushed down the latch and then used her shoulder to force open the heavy wooden door, striding into the room ahead of Solas. "I brought him as you asked," she said.

Entering the office, Solas saw a wide room with squared corners along the interior that widened into a flange where the exterior wall curved with the tower's circular shape. A window behind the Knight-Commander's broad red-tinted wooden desk provided illumination. Two chairs sat in front of the Knight-Commander's desk and a few others lined the walls. The Senior Enchanter moved to sit in one of these, beside a bookshelf brimming with dusty tomes.

Sitting in the chairs in front of Kali's desk were two humans, a man and a woman. The man Solas recognized as First Enchanter Braden, with his bright blue eyes, brown hair, and distinguished air aided by the graying at his temples. The woman, however, was unfamiliar. She wore armor reminiscent of a Templar's, complete with their sigil of the flaming sword. Her hair was black and cropped short, with striking features and a strong jaw, marred by a reddish scar. Her brown eyes swept over him and narrowed with concentration.

"Ah," Braden said then, motioning to Solas. "This is the apprentice we mentioned, by the name of Revas." Smiling to Solas, Braden asked, "Are you comfortable standing? You're welcome to sit beside Elyssa."

Guessing the First Enchanter referred to the woman who'd led him here, Solas glanced in her direction and spotted the open chair for future reference before quashing the achy pain pulsating in his legs and back. He tucked his hands behind himself, squaring his shoulders. "I can stand for the time being."

"Revas," Kali said from behind her desk in her gruff, authoritative voice. "This is Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine."

Solas dipped his head in greeting, smothering his surprise at hearing the woman's full title. "Lady Seeker."

"Revas," she said, shifting position in her chair as if about to rise to her feet, but stopping short. Her eyes narrowed at him in scrutiny. "Knight-Commander Kali and the First Enchanter informed me of the unusual circumstances of your arrival to this tower. I wanted to hear your version of events."

Solas fought to keep his expression neutral even as sweat doused his body, hot first and then cold. Stalling for time, he looked to the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander with confusion. "My version of what events, may I ask?"

Kali grunted. "What do you remember of the ruins and the artifact where we found you, apprentice."

Brow furrowing, Solas glanced to the Seeker again and asked, "Forgive me, Lady Seeker. I'm afraid I do not recall much of the circumstances around my…" He drifted off, struggling to find a better word to describe the Templars' abduction of him.

"That's fine," the Seeker said and Solas thought he detected a hint of impatience in her voice. "Just tell me what you can remember, apprentice." She paused a moment, lips pursing as if she were holding something back before she spoke again. "I have come to the Free Marches on behalf of the Divine for a variety of reasons, one of which is to investigate the Rite of Tranquility."

Now Solas felt cold, as if his blood had frozen in his veins. "Am I to be made Tranquil?" he asked quietly.

"No," Braden said quickly. "No, not at all. There is no reason for the Rite to be considered for you, Revas." He smiled, warm and reassuring.

Solas felt his shoulders slump and his muscles shake with more than just the constant ache of his ongoing weakness. The Seeker shifted once more in her seat, as if impatient or embarrassed as she hurriedly explained, "I apologize. I did not mean to imply you would be considered for the Rite, Revas. I ask because Knight-Commander Kali and the First Enchanter have both told me you lack magic since your encounter with the artifact in the elven ruins where you were found."

"That is regrettably true," Solas answered with a nod, mind spinning at this line of questioning. His heart rushed in his ears and his spine burned, stiff with tension. In letting the Templars and mages here in the Circle believe his orb to be capable of sucking the magical talent from him to cause his current physical state, he had inadvertently drawn more attention to it. He cursed himself for not seeing this possibility earlier. _Of course_ the Templars would be delighted to learn of a new tool they might use to neuter their charges. It didn't matter that his foci _couldn't_ do what he'd allowed them to believe it could. They would study it and try to unlock its secrets and, in their clumsy fumbling, could end up destroying the whole tower and tearing open the Veil in a dangerous, foolhardy, and doomed venture. The Veil would fail then, unraveling over time with no one left alive—as Solas would inevitably be killed in the initial blast—who understood what was happening.

Eventually, once the Veil failed entirely, the Evanuris would waken and spill out into this world…

Shuddering at the thought, Solas shook his head and stumbled back toward the chair along the wall. "I apologize," he said in a gravelly voice. "My strength is not what it once was."

Kali grunted. "No need to apologize, apprentice." To the Seeker she said, "He may not possess magic currently, but Revas has told me he retains his connection to the Fade. It seems likely to me then that he will one day regain his magic."

Braden nodded sagely. "I agree with the Knight-Commander. In addition, because Revas still dreams, he remains vulnerable to possession." He shook his head, frowning. "Whatever the artifact is that he found in that ruin, it is _not_ something we can hope to use as a substitute for the Rite."

"You still dream?" the Seeker asked Solas, her brown eyes sharp and critical as she observed him.

Solas had slumped over in his seat, breathing deeply to remain calm and _think_. Fortunately he knew the people around him would see his discomfort as a sign of his physical frailty rather than emotional distress—as long as he could feign an unruffled composure, anyway. "I do, Lady Seeker," he replied coolly. "First Enchanter Braden is correct, I believe. The artifact cannot be used as a means of replacing the Rite. It would not afford the mage any protection from demons."

The Seeker huffed, frowning. "For some time now Most Holy has been interested in learning more of the Rite. I cannot help but wonder if this artifact may prove the key, once we have studied it and understand its uses, of course."

The Seeker, the mages, and the Templars here had about as much chance of understanding the foci as an ant had of learning how to bake a loaf of bread. Solas' guts seemed to twist themselves in knots, writhing with dread.

"I've been tempted to grant Braden and his Senior Enchanters access to study the artifact," Kali said with a contemplative scowl. "But it's seemed far too dangerous until now." Her gaze landed on Solas and her expression warped with something akin to sympathy. "With all due respect, Seeker Pentaghast, you did not see the state Revas was in when he was first brought here. Most of the Templars had a betting pool on him dying the first night. He could not walk or even stand for a week."

"I could not even speak," Solas interjected, voice sharp. As the others' eyes fell on him, Solas debated falling silent or protesting their plans to study the orb unless he was present. The latter would prove invaluable if they agreed to involve him, but it could also be disastrous if they questioned his motives. Steeling himself, he pushed through the fear, knowing he _had_ to take the risk.

"The artifact is obviously very dangerous. If it is to be studied at all, I'd ask that I be included."

"You?" the Seeker asked, quirking an eyebrow. "That seems unwise."

"I am an expert on such relics," Solas explained, licking his lips. "That was why I was in the ruins to begin with."

"So you are a scavenger," the Seeker said, not bothering to hide the curl of her upper lip in disgust.

"A _scholar,_ " Solas corrected her with a mild frown, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu at the exchange. Hadn't he had to correct Ser Bartholomew the same way? "I have spent much of my life wandering alone in the wilds, seeking secrets from the past."

"By scavenging old ruins?" the Seeker clarified, the disapproval radiating from her in waves.

Varric's voice echoed through Solas' mind as he stared at the Seeker. _The woman's a harpy._ He clenched his jaw to keep himself from smiling with dry amusement. "It is not as repellent as you imagine, Lady Seeker. I leave food out for the giant spiders and they are content to live and let live. And I also, of course, set wards." Pausing, he sighed. "Obviously I cannot engage in such activities as I am now, but I may have valuable insight that I would be happy to provide."

"And you would place yourself in that kind of risk again?" the Seeker asked, eyes widening slightly. "Even knowing what it has already done to you?"

Was that…admiration he heard in her voice? Solas pushed the thought aside and smiled at the Seeker as he nodded. "I have apparently engaged with the relic once already and survived, although I have no memory of what happened."

"But surely it would kill you this time," the Seeker said, gaze sweeping over him in what was an obvious survey of his wizened, lean form. The wrinkle that formed between her brows made it clear she didn't find what she saw pleasing or reassuring.

"If the relic did indeed draw away my magic as the Templars currently believe," Solas said, still wearing the polite smile, "then only a Tranquil or someone stripped of magic such as myself would be the logical choice for handling it."

"But what it has done to you physically," the Seeker pointed out with a frown. "No. You would surely not survive." Looking to the Knight-Commander, the Seeker announced, "You must not allow this man to be exposed to this device again."

 _Fenedhis,_ Solas cursed internally, frowning. _That did not go as planned._

"It generally goes against our policy to allow apprentices close to artifacts like this," Kali said with a frown. "And I'm not convinced letting anyone touch it or probe it—with or without magic—is wise." She nodded to the Seeker. "I'm inclined to say we should not have anyone touch the Maker-damned thing, but if you really want to investigate it, Seeker Pentaghast, I can ask one of the Tranquil bring it up for you to inspect."

The Seeker shook her head. "No, that will not be necessary." She sighed. "It seems that this is another dead end and not an alternate to the Rite as I'd hoped." Turning slightly in her chair, she gestured toward the senior enchanter, Elyssa, as Braden had called her. "If you would please escort Revas out, I'd like to return to my primary reason for visiting."

"Of course," Kali said and snapped her fingers, pointing at Elyssa. "Please see the apprentice out."

Elyssa rose from her seat and grabbed Solas by the arm. He leaned on her heavily as he got to his feet, biting his tongue to keep from grunting with the effort. His joints popped and his muscles strained, but his strength was such that his knees bore his weight. He let Elyssa guide him from the room, gradually regaining his control over his legs and shakiness.

As they reached the large wooden door and Elyssa pulled it open, Solas heard the Seeker launch into a discussion, apparently not content to wait for him to be fully out of the room. "I will require all the correspondence you have regarding the Champion of Kirkwall. I have reason to believe he may have passed through here a few months back and I am looking to find him. I'm also curious if you have any information on an enchanter named Bethany from the Kirkwall Circle."

The wooden door clanged shut with a hollow echo then and Elyssa ushered him toward the stairwell. "You are to return to your chores for the rest of today," she instructed him in a stern voice. "If the Seeker calls on you again someone will come find you."

"Of course," Solas replied, still gripping her arm as he navigated the first steps, gritting his teeth at the spurts of pain running through his thighs. Inwardly, his mind was awash in a tumultuous mixture of emotions. Fear gnawed at his stomach with cold teeth while hope made it flutter as if he'd swallowed wisps. Would the Seeker change her mind and order the Knight-Commander to allow study of the orb?

If they did, he knew with certainty that he would not be allowed to participate. These foolish Templars and the ignorant mages didn't know that in turning him away they could be sentencing everyone in the tower to death. In their fumbling, they might manage to unlock it, bringing on disaster. At least it would be a sudden, swift explosion and not the lingering suffering that would happen later once the Veil was gone and the Evanuris escaped the Black City. And at least Solas could take solace in knowing that he would already be dead so he wouldn't have to live in such a miserable existence.

He sighed as they reached a landing, shoulders slumping with more than just exhaustion and pain. Elyssa shot him a worried look. "You okay?"

"Well enough," he answered cagily and feigned a smile. The memory of Rosa sitting across the table from him during lunch the previous day snapped into his mind. Her outrage at he and Tal for their glum attitudes, for even the barest hint that the trials facing them were daunting or that they _could_ give up.

Clenching his jaw, he thought: _No._ His hand not clasping Elyssa's forearm curled into a fist as determination hardened inside his chest. No matter how hopeless things appeared, Solas would _never_ give up. If he could not safeguard the foci from experimentation by the mages directly, he'd have to come up with some way to discourage them indirectly. As a Dreamer, that should have been easy because he could touch their minds as they slept, influencing their decisions or guiding them.

Except he could barely alter the Fade in his current weakness and he could not afford to wait in the hope that his powers returned. If the Knight-Commander and Seeker decided to allow study of the orb tonight, then Braden and the other senior enchanters could be poking at it tomorrow.

That left him with only one viable option: convincing Rosa to act in his stead without somehow revealing his connection to the orb.

 _Wonderful,_ he thought with a grimace.

___________________________________________

In the library Solas returned to dutifully dusting the titles, but now he kept an eye out for Varric Tethras' works while his mind twisted around the challenge of bending Rosa to his will without revealing himself overmuch. She'd accused him multiple times of hiding the truth or lying outright regarding the orb. What could he possibly say to her to strip her of that stubborn suspicion while also convincing her of the orb's danger?

About an hour before dinnertime, Solas found Varric's books on the second story. He stroked the book spines, reading the names, and frowned as he saw no sign of _The Tale of the Champion._ Considering it was his newest work, might it be hidden away in someone's room for reading? Or, possibly more likely, had it been banned by the Templars due to the fact it concerned the rebellion in Kirkwall?

He was absorbed with these questions when he heard the floorboards creak near the stairs to the second story and tensed. Pivoting around to see who had ventured up here—the library had been quiet most of the afternoon—he saw Rosa's lithe form. Frowning at her with disapproval, he waited until she had drawn closer and quietly asked, "What are you doing here, lethallan? If the Templars find you—"

"You think I'm afraid of pissing them off?" she asked with a small snort.

Solas smirked with dry amusement as he shook his head. "I suppose that was a foolish thing for me to ask _you."_

"Absolutely foolish," she agreed, a playful gleam in her violet eyes. "Like asking that dwarf Varric to describe a dream. Or asking that scumbag Curtis to mind his manners."

Solas' lips quirked downward. "Has he continued to trouble you despite the Knight-Commander's warning?"

She shrugged, eyes roving over the bookshelves to his right, scanning the titles. "Haven't really run into him since yesterday, but he's the sort of deranged, cruel bully who won't be happy until he's crushed my spirit." Her lips curled in a hard, humorless smile. "And he _won't_ manage to crush me, so there's only one way things end for him and I."

Solas' breath stilled a moment as he interpreted the look on her face and the dire note of her words. In little more than a whisper, he said, "If you kill him you will only ensure your own death, leaving Tal and myself alone."

Rosa's gaze locked with him. One corner of her lip curled up slightly and then wavered. The violet color of her eyes seemed to darken into a brown; stormy with an emotion he couldn't quite read. Then the coy smile spread over her mouth and Solas averted his eyes, frowning at it.

"What?" he asked, his tone a little sharper than he'd intended.

Shifting her weight from one foot to another, Rosa ignored him as she reached out one hand to absently brush over the books on the shelf across from her. Solas quashed the bristling irritation that laced through him at her silent dismissal. His mind gnawed on itself, trying to puzzle out what might be on her mind—just _why_ she held back or didn't trust him now. He needed to obtain a better grasp on reading her, manipulating her, or she'd see straight through him when he tried to convince her to dissuade the mages from investigating the orb.

"You look troubled," she said with a small hum, her gaze still on the books. "Why did the senior enchanter draw you away after lunch?"

Spine stiffening, Solas' eyes moved to where Rosa's fingertips traced the lettering on a scuffed, worn tome. He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "The Seeker apparently is interested in alternatives to the Rite of Tranquility," he explained. "She hoped that the relic I was found with could offer such a substitute."

Rosa's eyes snapped back to his and narrowed. Her brow knit and lips pinched. "And what did you tell her, Revas?"

"The truth, of course." Resisting the instinct to hunch his shoulders slightly with the tension crawling over and through him, Solas feigned impassiveness though he sensed something dark and cold underlying Rosa's question. "That I remain connected to the Fade so the orb is not a viable option."

Rosa's hand fell from the books as she turned away from him and strode to the railing. Leaning against it, she peered down into the library's first floor, surveying it quickly. Solas waited, watching her and still clutching the feather duster in one fist. His thighs were beginning to burn with the prolonged standing so, when Rosa didn't return immediately, Solas walked to the railing as well. Resting his left hipbone and his corresponding elbow against the wood, he faced Rosa and asked, "What is the matter, lethallan?"

She shot him a sidelong look, blank and unreadable. "Do you really believe the foci robbed you of your magic? Your strength?"

A nervous fluttering started in Solas' stomach. "What other explanation is there?" he asked. "I wish I could remember what happened to me, but I do not."

"And you have no memory of the foci?" Rosa asked pointedly, her voice somber and hushed.

"No," Solas lied, staring at her, willing her to believe.

She turned slightly, her stance mirroring his. "That's a shame, Revas," she said and the coy smile spread over her lips. "A real shame. If you remembered it at all then you could tell me what its magic felt like, how much power was stored within it…what danger it might pose to fumbling Seekers and Circle Enchanters…"

The insinuation hung in the air between them, the dark invitation from Rosa to himself: _Admit the truth._ Her violet eyes drilled into him, narrowed with raw suspicion. Solas' blood rushed in his ears, so loud it drowned out everything else. Without him even mentioning his fears, Rosa had zeroed in on the issue at hand. How much did she truly know and how much was a guess? In a tight voice, he asked, "What do _you_ know of relics such as the foci?"

She shrugged, her tightlipped smile parting to show her teeth. Solas thought of a wolf, a predator catching the scent of blood. _His_ blood. "More than you," she said, almost purring. "Or so you would have me believe…flat-ear."

"Whatever delusions you labor under regarding myself, we have more pressing concerns." His palms were slimy with sweat. Solas brushed his hand not grasping the feather duster over the railing, leaving a streak of moisture that evaporated quickly. Glaring at her, Solas added, "Have I not proven you can trust me, lethallan?" Edging closer he said, "Tell me what you know."

Surprising him, Rosa also moved closer, the railing quivering slightly under her weight. Solas refused to inch backward, despite feeling the warm, moist puff of her breath over his cheeks. The wide, dry smile stayed over her lips, displaying bright white teeth. "You first."

She smelled faintly of flowers, but with an underlying musk of sweat that stirred something primal deep within. Ancient memories of warm bodies pressed against his own, of lips that tasted sweet and skin that was deliciously salty. Longing coiled in his belly but he squashed it, focusing instead on irritation as a flash of angry frustration scalded his blood.

Nostrils flaring, Solas spoke through gritted teeth as he said, "I know that without my aid you will be killed by the Templars the next time your temper gets the better of you and Rogathe stirs."

She flinched, nose wrinkling and lips twisting as she drew backward a step, leaving the railing behind. "You said you would help me."

"And I have. I will continue to do so," he said quickly, the anger cooling now that she had retreated slightly. Now that she wasn't close enough to pick up her scent, to touch, or to send his thoughts spiraling to some forbidden place. "But I grow weary of your constant doubt of me. You must trust me, lethallan."

"If you wish to earn my complete trust then stop lying to me," Rosa growled, glaring.

Solas scoffed. "Why do you _insist_ on claiming I am untruthful? Do you enjoy antagonizing me, perhaps?" Softening then, he tried a new tactic. "Can you explain why you believe I am lying? Perhaps we can overcome this misunderstanding."

Her jaw clenched as they stared at one another, seconds ticking by in thick silence. Then, suddenly, Rosa let out a breath and turned away, staring out over the library's first floor far below them. She gripped the wooden railing with both hands, the knuckles flushing white. "My clan has a…legend," she said softly.

Unable to resist, Solas quipped, "I am shocked, lethallan."

She snorted and then shot him a glare. "Are you going to let me talk or not, flat-ear?"

 _"Ir abelas._ Yes." Solas bit the inside of his cheek and stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"My clan was called Naseral—dreaming soul—because…" She frowned, shaking her head briefly and then starting again. "…Because many generations ago it is said our ancestors stumbled upon an uthenera tomb." Her gaze slid to him and Solas didn't dare breathe, willing himself to be stone, stoic and unreadable.

"It was untouched," she went on, hissing out the final word. "You understand the significance of that?"

Nodding slightly, Solas hedged, "Yes. Uthenera was the endless dreaming sleep of the ancients."

"Yes," she agreed. "It was. When we were immortal. When we ruled Thedas. When we were free." Her voice had softened with awe and reverence. Solas watched her; still hardly daring to breathe for fear that she would read the truth from him. This was just the sort of insight he'd feared she could have from her clan.

"Anyway," she went on with a little sigh. "We dedicated ourselves to guarding it. We wanted to preserve it and the…sleeper within."

"Did you?" Solas asked, staring off at the ground floor, as if he could see what she described below. And, in a way, he could. He had _seen_ his own uthenera chamber, after all, and numerous others before the fall of Elvhenan. He hoped Rosa would see his behavior as merely wistful, the same longing she had displayed when mentioning the lost Elvhen empire and the People's immortality.

Rosa chewed her lip, saying nothing for a long moment. Slowly, she nodded. "We did—or so our legends say. The sleeper within eventually woke, along with some servants. The clan took them all in." She swallowed suddenly, hard. "It was long ago," she said, her voice strained. "But…" She frowned, her voice catching. "The tales are too detailed not to have some truth in them."

As covertly as he could, Solas edged his upper body backward, ignoring the aching pain it brought on, trying to get a better view of Rosa's form as realization dawned. Clan Naseral was descended from _Elvhen_ fairly recently and now that he knew what to look for, he saw it in Rosa. She was taller than many of the other elven apprentices, and had a curvier frame due to her broader hips. Her features, however, seemed to be all modern elf—an oval face, large eyes, and a petite nose. Yet beneath it, Solas thought he saw something regal, a shadow of the greatness that'd been lost. She _had_ reminded him of Mythal, after all, on more than one occasion.

And this new knowledge also explained some of the unexpected aspects he'd seen from Rosa. The fact she was a Dreamer who hadn't succumbed to demonic possession and seemed comfortable in the Fade. Her clan's permissible attitude to spirits. The way she'd used Fade rocks to smash the target dummies during her assessment by the enchanters. _This_ was why she had so defied his expectations…

"And one detail from our legend sticks out in my mind," Rosa went on, jerking her head to glare at him in silent challenge. "My Keeper says when the sleeper awoke with his servants he was as weak as a newborn babe…"

Solas' stomach clenched with cold horror. Reacting swiftly, he frowned and then forced out a sardonic laugh. "You mean to suggest that _I_ am like the sleeper from your foolish Dalish legend?"

"If the armor fits," she said, her eyes flitting over him. "Then perhaps it isn't foolish, is it?"

Still scowling, Solas asked, "And what of my inability to call magic? Was your sleeper afflicted similarly?"

Now Rosa's brow knit and she shook her head in the negative. "No. He still possessed his magic."

"Then it seems obvious that your preposterous theory is flawed," Solas muttered. In a gentler tone, he added, "Though now I understand your suspicions regarding me."

She huffed, shoulders heaving with the motion. "And _I_ don't understand why you won't just come clean with it." Her nails rapped over the wooden railing. "You demand I trust you but you don't—"

The door to the library creaked on its old hinges as it swung open, admitting a trio of senior enchanters. Baring her teeth in a grimace, Rosa grabbed Solas by the shoulder, pulling him away from the railing and out of sight. Solas followed her lead, mimicking her stance as she ducked low, using the railing to hide herself. Rosa tugged him around the circular space of the library and toward a darkened hallway that Solas knew led to an alcove where cleaning supplies like his feather duster were stored.

Craning his head to check behind them, Solas saw motion on the stairwell across from them and heard the soft clatter of the enchanters' feet on the steps. His body protested their awkward, crouched positions as they scurried for the alcove. His knees and thighs quivered under the strain, aching with hot lances of pain. He was about to collapse when they reached the alcove and Rosa helped him inside where they would be impossible to see unless the enchanters walked right up to their hiding spot.

Once there he struggled to control his breathing, his head somehow feeling both too light and too heavy. Pressing his back to the stone of the wall alcove, he tried to keep his legs from shaking or giving out completely. His heartbeat throbbed in his throat and through his temples.

Rosa watched him, her brow knit and her eyes dark with concern. Her lips parted slightly as if she would say something, but then snapped shut. In the same instant she reached out, stooping slightly, and placed her palms just above his knees. Solas flinched at her touch, startled, and moved to shake her off only to stop and sag with relief as cool magic washed through his legs. The undersides of her palms glowed, the light smothered by his legs so it wouldn't be visible outside their hiding spot, and Solas had to swallow the groan of enjoyment at this respite from his constant pain. He let his head fall back against the cold stone, his breaths slowing.

On the second floor now came the scuff of the enchanters' feet as they entered a classroom, speaking in hushed tones.

"Can you believe it?" asked a woman who might have been Elyssa. "An attempt on Divine Justinia's life?"

Rosa's violet eyes locked with his and widened as they listened in silence. The flow of her healing magic continued on him, soothing his pain and lending him the strength to remain standing. He concentrated on hearing the enchanters.

"And by a sodding mage?" a man answered with an angry scoff. "At her own party, no less."

"There's no way a mage would get into a place like that," another man said, so enraged that his gravelly voice shook. "Someone _let_ him in."

Rosa nodded in silent agreement with the angry enchanter. Solas agreed as well. It was an astute observation, if the other details were accurate. His stomach flip-flopped with the delicious thrill of danger and excitement melding into one. This kind of chaos was just what he and the Dalish siblings needed to unite the mages into open rebellion within this tower.

Their voices quieted, becoming almost indiscernible as they headed into the classroom. Still, Solas' keen ears made out the woman's voice as she asked, "But who would do such a thing?"

"Who do you think benefits?" the angry man snarled back at her. "The Templars, of course."

"Do you think the Divine was in on it too?" the other man asked.

The classroom door clattered shut then, making Solas flinch at the loudness of it. Rosa let out a breath and her hands tightened their grip on his knees before she pulled away, ending the soothing wash of her magic. Solas braced against the wall, refusing to give in and let himself slide down it to rest as the pain walloped him all over again.

"Interesting gossip," Rosa whispered, smirking at him. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," Solas answered.

Still staring at him, Rosa's levity faded and she sighed. "Look, about earlier. Forget it, okay? You're helping me, and I can overlook…things." She shrugged. "I can trust you. Or try to, anyway." Solas wasn't certain if she was speaking to him or to herself there.

"I appreciate that," he told her with a small smile. "Ma serannas…" Drawing in a breath then, he said, "But…I must ask a favor of you."

She cocked her head to one side, the coy smile leaping to her lips again. "And that would be…?"

He licked his lips and came right out with it. "I fear the Seeker and Knight-Commander may decide to pursue some ill-advised experimentation on the relic I was found with. If they were to mishandle it…" He gnashed his teeth, shifting his position as his legs screamed with pain, demanding he sit.

"The consequences could be dire, right?" Rosa asked him, arching an eyebrow. Then, chuckling quietly, she dropped her gaze to the floor between them. "I'd _like_ to ask you how you know about that and _how_ bad it'd be if they mishandle it, like you said." Grinning, she met his eye again as she added, "But I just said I'd stop needling you like that, so…"

Solas sighed, weary and aching with pain. "I will never ask that you not follow your curiosity, Rosa. I may not have answers, however, as in this particular case. I do _not_ know for certain, but I… _suspect._ I have wandered the Fade and seen much there." That was close enough to the truth to be accurate, yet cagey enough to hide vital details. "And as for how devastating their actions could prove?" He clenched his jaw. "You know as well as I that the ancient elves were powerful. I imagine this relic could easily kill dozens of mages." _Keep the number small,_ he thought, heart pounding. _Just large enough to be alarming, to motivate her._

Rosa wrinkled her nose. "I don't much care if a few _shemlen_ senior enchanters fry." She hesitated a beat and then grinned, eyes bright and feral. "But you know me. I can't back away from a challenge. So, what is the favor you need me to do? Break into the storage room? Kill the Templar guards to let you get past? Steal the foci?"

Solas frowned. "Nothing so destructive or foolish as that. I merely need you to touch their dreams and ensure they remain convinced that the foci is too dangerous to study. Can you manage that?"

Reaching out to him, Rosa tugged on his forearm. "Sit down, Revas. I can see you're shaking like a leaf."

Stubbornly, Solas locked his knees, refusing as he stared at her. "Will you do what I've asked, lethallan?"

She smiled at him, genuine warmth sparkling in her violet eyes. "Only if you sit down and rest, flat-ear."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Solas slid down the wall and let himself sit, stretching his legs out as far as the narrow alcove allowed. As he caught his breath again, rejoicing at the small reprieve of pain, Rosa sat as well. Flexible and in the peak of her short, mortal life, she easily folded her legs up, only to grumble under her breath with frustration when her robes snapped taut around her.

"Damn this tight fabric." Repositioning, she mirrored his position, stretching her legs out. Her bare feet poked out next to him and, as she saw him looking, Rosa wiggled the toes. "What are you looking at?" she teased. "I'm a savage, remember?"

Ignoring her playfulness, Solas said, "When you influence their dreams you must use a subtle hand. You cannot bludgeon them or they will go mad. Do you understand?"

Rosa's smile changed into a smirk and again she tilted her head at him, seemingly at the edge of laughing at him. "I can be subtle."

Now Solas snorted. "You? Subtle? You do not even know the definition."

"No," she said, grinning now. "I know what subtlety is." Leaning closer to him in the narrow alcove, she murmured, "It's tiptoeing around your Keeper's aravel just before dawn under the light of the full moon, knowing she can hear a mouse burp from twenty feet away."

Her left hand moved slowly to his hand where it rested against his thigh and hovered in the air above it, fingers outstretched. Solas glanced at her motion and then back at her, arching an eyebrow. "I believe that is _stealthy,_ not subtle, da'len. Try again."

Undaunted, she said, "It's a long look across a fire over a meal." Her index and middle finger touched his hand, just barely. The fingertips seemed hot enough to scald Solas but he didn't pull away. He didn't have a snarky retort this time, however, either.

"It's a casual touch that lingers just a bit longer than needed," she said as her fingers walked up from his hand to his wrist and then his forearm. Every little touch, innocent as it was, made Solas fight the desire to fidget with distress. She was close enough again that he could smell her faintly floral scent with that underlying musk that stirred those long dormant urges inside him, making them catch like tinder at a spark. His heart thumped in his chest, so loud she should be able to hear it as he fought to regain some semblance of control.

 _This is a shadow-world and she is_ not _one of my people._ The thought kept repeating in the back of his mind, a desperate mantra. He was like one of the lyrium-addicted Templars, vainly fighting to stay sane. _I cannot afford any dalliance or emotional entanglement…_

"You…" Solas swallowed hard, and cleared his throat as she drew nearer still. He forced himself to speak, tabling the wild heat of desire that'd leapt up at the thought of kissing or touching her. "You've proven your point, lethallan. You should return to your duties before someone notices your absence."

Her hand lay on his shoulder now, motionless. Her violet eyes crinkled as she grinned at him. "Oh," she drawled, clucking her tongue and then switched to a mock-pout. "You're no fun, Revas."

"Flat-ear," he corrected her automatically and smiled.

"Flat-ear," she agreed and shot to her feet with a swiftness and grace that had him flushing red with envy. Standing over him now, she smoothed out her robes and squared her shoulders, steepling her hands in front of her. She shot him a quick glance and asked, "Do I look like a good Andrastian now? Tell me, honestly."

Solas chuckled softly. "Honestly? You look perfect."

She arched an eyebrow at him, a twinkle of amusement gleaming in her gaze. "Vallaslin and all?" She shook her head, grinning. "If only you were always such a terrible liar."

"Away with you," he scolded lightheartedly.

She nodded and darted out of the alcove, pausing to look back and say, "I'll see you tonight."

Solas remained motionless, listening as the quiet shuffle of her feet disappeared. He closed his eyes with relief and hung his head as soon as he heard the clatter of the library door opening. He could still feel the weight of her palm on his shoulder, still smell her scent in the alcove.

 _Best return to my duties,_ he thought. Responsibility was always the finest distraction.

Clutching the feather duster he'd set beside him when he'd first taken a seat, Solas heaved himself up to his feet with a strangled grunt of effort. Then, on unsteady, quivering legs, he left the alcove to resume dusting. From inside the classroom where the senior enchanters remained with the door shut, Solas occasionally made out the sound of heated voices lifted in argument.

____________________________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Rosa interrupted him, pivoting to clasp his bicep in her hand with a firm grip, startling him into complete silence at the surprise of her touch. "Rogathe is a spirit of bravery. It _will_ leave when I calm my fears."

Struggling to focus beyond the warmth of her touch, radiating even through his tunic, Solas nodded. "You intend to shape the Fade to calm your fears?" he asked, guessing. She could alter her own mood or mind with the right dreams, convincing herself to let go of the spirit. It seemed a likely solution.

She tilted her head. "Yes," she said with a half-shrug. "You think it will work?"

___________________________________________

Author's note: The jig's up Solas. She's onto you. But, honestly, you're into that.

If anyone has read Dragon Age _Asunder_ then the gossip of the enchanters in this chapter should clue you in to where we are in the timeline. For those who haven't read it, or those who have and can't remember what all this means...the Circle rebellion happens within just a few weeks or so of the attempted assassination of Divine Justinia. So yeah, shit is going to start moooooooving in the mage-Templar war.


	9. Rosa Faces Her Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "[Dreamers] could kill their enemies as they slept!"—Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> Rosa sets out Fade-walking to protect the orb and to trick Rogathe into leaving her. This leaves Solas intrigued as to how much she truly knows about her powers as a Dreamer...and where she learned what she knows. *Flirting intensifies* Also: Tal chafes under his sister's sister's over-protectiveness.

"So, Chuckles," a now-familiar gravelly voice called from the table as Solas walked at his slow, pained pace to take his seat beside Tal. "Did you get a chance to read any of my books yet?" Varric held a leg of chicken in one meaty fist as he flashed a lopsided smile in Solas' direction.

"I'm afraid not, Master Tethras," Solas admitted, sighing and sagging into his chair as he sat.

Rosa, sitting beside the dwarf, stared down at her plate, engrossed in stabbing at the medley of vegetables there with a fork. Her gaze flicked once to him and her lip twitched upward in a small smile, but otherwise she seemed absorbed with eating. Tal, meanwhile, was content to use his fingers, tearing strips of meat from his own chicken breast with the fervor of a starving man. Noticing Solas, Tal wiped at his mouth and smiled in greeting as he rushed to swallow his mouthful. "Revas! Great to see you."

Solas nodded to the younger man, returning his smile. "How are you, _da'len?_ " he asked.

Tal grinned. "I'm having more fun than the Dread Wolf did when he tricked the Creators."

Solas winced at the description. Tricking the Evanuris had been decidedly _not_ fun. More like nerve-wracking, terrifying, and devastating as it'd very nearly killed him and _had_ killed countless others. Forcing himself to stifle his initial reaction, Solas asked, "And what is so amusing you?"

"I am, of course," Varric put in, smirking as he took a big bite of his chicken leg.

Tal laughed at him. "Oh, you're definitely part of it, Varric," the younger elf said with a nod of appreciation. "But more so, it's just our classes." He sobered abruptly, looking between Solas and Rosa. "My clan never valued me because my Keeper never liked me. He told me he would _never_ name me his apprentice, even if he had no other choice."

Rosa snorted. "He was an ass, Tal. Better not to dwell on it, or anything from the past."

"I know, I know," he replied in a tone that suggested he and Rosa had discussed this topic countless times previously with Tal's sister reassuring him the fault hadn't been his. Focusing more on Solas now, Tal added, "But, point is, I never learned anything from him. It was Father and then Ghilath's First who took pity on me and taught me the basics. Enough that I didn't shoot sparks out when I sneezed."

Varric laughed. "You shot sparks out when you sneezed, kid?"

"Only once," Tal admitted with a sheepish look.

Varric laughed harder now, slapping the table with one meaty hand. "Wow, I need to write that one down." Apparently meaning to make good on the idea, he began fishing inside his coat, producing a leather-bound journal and then a small self-contained inkwell and a quill feather.

Solas arched an eyebrow but remained silent at this exchange. It seemed that, despite not being a Dreamer like Rosa, Tal was still remarkably powerful. Long before he'd become the Dread Wolf, Solas had volunteered as a teacher at various remote villages similar to his own whenever he tired of wandering alone in the wilds. In his experience it was only the most powerful children who had such notable accidents. In the middle class villages Solas had seen relatively few of that caliber, but later, when he served Mythal and tutored some of her descendants, adopted children, and the nobility's heirs, he'd seen far more such incidences. How common was it with the Veil in place?

Glancing briefly across the table at Rosa, he wondered again how they had come to be related. Unfortunately neither brother nor sister had made much mention of their parents. Were they full siblings? Half? Surely not adopted? If Tal shared the Naseral clan's Elvhen Dreamer blood it'd go a long way in explaining the youth's magical strength and his surprisingly Elvhen features.

Clearing his throat as he gave in to his curiosity, Solas asked, "You said your father was the first to teach you magic? Your father was a mage then?"

Tal opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again, frowning. His lips pinched in a thin line before he said, "Yes. Didn't know him very well though." He swallowed and began picking at his chicken, pulling off another strip. "He's dead."

 _"Ir abelas,"_ Solas told him. "For your loss, da'len." He knew what it felt like to lose his father. _And_ his mother. The old pain still tightened his chest at the memory. After his parents were slaughtered in the slave uprising within Elgar'nan's lands, Solas had had to proclaim the rebellion a triumphant success to further his cause as the Dread Wolf. Fen'Harel had no parents, no family, no birthplace—but _Solas_ did. Fen'Harel could shed no tears for the innocents killed foolishly in his name—but _Solas_ did, in private.

Facing his own tray of food, Solas almost missed the hard stare Rosa was giving Tal across the table. When his gaze fell on her the Dalish woman seemed to deflate, dropping her eyes back to her plate and stabbing another carrot. With a sidelong look at Tal, Solas saw the youth had tensed, withdrawing into himself, seemingly with grief at the reminder of his deceased father—but somehow Solas didn't quite believe it. _What am I missing?_

Then Varric broke in with a sigh. "Sorry to hear about your dad, Stoic. Unfortunately we all have to face it sooner or later. I lost a brother, actually. Granted he was an insufferable ass who tried to kill me, but that didn't make it any easier." He hung his head, screwing up his face as he began digging inside his coat, looking for something else.

"Sorry to hear that, Varric," Tal commiserated, smiling sympathetically. "I'm lucky. I still have my—"

Rosa cut him off. "Tal," she scolded in reprimand, violet eyes narrowed. "We don't discuss the past."

"See, there's that story I got wind of at lunch," Varric said, brightening now as he produced the same silver flask from earlier in the day. He drank noisily from it, exhaling with satisfaction afterward. Extending it to Tal, he said, "Here you go. Drink's on me."

"There's wine now," Rosa pointed out as she frowned with disapproval. "That's enough alcohol for one evening, Tal."

"I'm sorry," Tal snapped, glaring at her. "I missed the part where you're my Keeper now." He reached for the flask, smiling politely to Varric as he took it.

"I _am_ your elder," Rosa grumbled, her voice dropping into a deeper tone of warning. "Praise Mythal for that. Because if our positions were reversed you would…" She stopped, huffing and piercing more vegetables with greater force than was necessary, apparently taking out pent up frustration.

" _Fenedhis lasa,"_ Tal growled, tossing back the flask, taking a big gulp of it without letting the metal spout touch his mouth. As he passed it back to Varric, he said to Rosa, "Void take your paranoia, _asamalin_."

"Whoa," Varric said, head swiveling back and forth between the siblings. "Unresolved issues much? Look, Violet, if me sitting with you three makes you uncomfortable all you need to do is ask me to leave."

"No," Rosa said to the dwarf around her mouthful of vegetables. "Never mind. That wasn't about you."

"Whatever you say, Violet," Varric said with a shrug as he replaced the flask into his inner coat pocket. Picking up his chicken again, he bit into it with gusto.

Eager to change the subject, Solas spoke up, "I had hoped to read your account of the events in Kirkwall, Master Tethras, but sadly I saw no sign of it in the library."

Varric gave a grunting, rough laugh. "Can't say I'm surprised. You _do_ know you're in a Circle tower, right?"

"Indeed," Solas said with a nod and a tight smile. "But it occurred to me it may be tucked away in one of the other mages' rooms. I had hoped you would know if it has been banned from the Circles in general or if I should investigate further with the assumption it is here but simply missing."

"If it has been banned by anyone, my publisher hasn't told me about it," Varric said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "But you know, it could be in one of the Templars' rooms too, Chuckles."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "I imagine the events you recorded in Kirkwall would hold less interest within their order. The Champion supported the mage rebellion, did he not? I doubt many of the Templars consider such a tale worthy of their time."

Varric chuckled as he shook his head. "You'd be surprised. Seeker Pentaghast has read it, and not just so she could grill me about it. Sometimes when she questions me…" He smirked. "I get the feeling she's got some kind of crush on him."

"The _Seeker?"_ Solas asked, unable to hide his mixture of amusement and surprise. Having met the woman personally, Solas found it difficult to picture her doing anything that'd tip Varric off to some underlying emotion other than duty. And yet…he'd also briefly caught a glimpse of something else beneath her demeanor—admiration for him when he volunteered to place himself in supposed danger to protect others.

Tal chimed in too: "Truly?"

"Yeah," Varric said, his brown eyes laughing at their reactions. "You can't make this shit up. That's how you know it's true."

"You said the Seeker came here on the Divine's orders?" Rosa asked Varric.

He nodded. "Sure did." Grunting, he leaned back in his chair, the half-eaten chicken leg gripped in one hand. "Why do you ask?"

Rosa's gaze slid to Solas' and stayed there for a second, reading him as he did the same to her. The gossip they'd overheard in the library from the senior enchanters had suggested the Divine could be so determined to quash the rebellion that she'd even stage an assassination attempt on herself with the Templars' aid. Rosa's lips parted to answer Varric and then she frowned, shaking her head. "Just curious," she answered cagily. "I wondered where the shemlen's precious Divine stands in all this mess."

"Eh," Varric said with a shrug. "The impression I get is that Divine Justinia is just trying to strike a balance and keep the peace. But she's…" He frowned, likely struggling to find the correct terminology. "…more proactive than the previous Divine."

"Do you believe that is better for mages and the Circles?" Solas asked, smiling politely. "Or do you believe it will be worse?"

"Honestly?" Varric said, both brows lifting into his forehead. "I haven't a clue." He brushed his free hand, the one not holding the chicken leg, over his bristly jaw, coated as it was in stubble.

Unable to help himself, Solas shot Rosa a searching look and found her staring back at him, her lips pinched in a tight line. _She believes the Divine was involved in her own assassination attempt._ The thought made Solas' stomach clench, tight with nervous tension and something akin to excitement. Regardless of the Divine's stance on the burgeoning mage-Templar conflict, the attempt at assassination was yet another escalation. Solas and the Dalish siblings _needed_ that…

But if the Divine proved to be solidly against the mages in perfect agreement with the Templars, then the mages might be too cowed with fear to revolt. Particularly in towers like this one, which seemed to be fairly lackadaisical in its restrictions and seemed to have a Knight-Commander capable of seeing reason.

They continued their meal with Tal and Varric doing most of the talking while Rosa and Solas stayed focused on finishing their food. It wasn't long before a mage appeared in the entryway of the dining hall to usher all of the apprentices back to the barracks for the evening. The usual squabbling over the water closet came and went as the apprentices went through their bathing rotations.

Solas' bathing day was set to be tomorrow evening and he watched the proceedings around the baths with interest, feeling his own skin prickle with accumulated sweat and grime. Tranquil hauled in much of the water in wooden buckets and then allowed the runes along the side of the tub to warm it. Apprentices shared the tub typically, two to four of them at a time segregated by sex, though the older apprentices, post-puberty, no longer shared a single tub. The rest of the apprentices passed the time before lights out and sleep by studying, reading, or conversing quietly.

Solas spent his time perusing his way through a copy of Varric's _Hard In Hightown_ while covertly observing the bunks Rosa and Tal shared. The Dalish siblings showed little interest in the prospect of a bath from what he could see. Instead it seemed they were quietly talking in elven. They were too distant—and the barracks around him too loud and chaotic—for him to overhear anything that was said. Whatever they discussed, it seemed by Tal's frequent frowning and unhappy looks toward his sister that their earlier bickering had not yet ceased. Curiosity stirred inside him, wondering at what had created such a wedge between the siblings.

At lights out, Solas tucked his copy of _Hard In Hightown_ beneath his pillow and quickly slipped into sleep. When he opened his eyes in the Fade, he found himself standing on a pale stone floor in a brightly lit space with bookshelves lining either wall and extending as far as the eye could see. His heart sank and his chest tightened with old grief and loss as he recognized the Elvhen library. Orange-red spirits hovered in the distance, moving over the rows of titles. The memory of magic tingled over his skin, its song caressing his ears.

Turning gradually in a circle, Solas saw he stood on an island floating in the void, the diffuse golden light permeating everywhere around him from runes and wisps along the floors and ceilings. A bridge of pink and green stretched to the next nearest island, shimmering. Solas knew that, had this been real and not a Fade-constructed memory, if he walked over to it he could alter the bridge's appearance to suit his whim with but a thought.

It was a beautiful dream, one he'd happily linger in despite the pain of ancient grief. Yet to someone like Rosa, it would appear truly bizarre and she'd know that with as weak as he'd been he hadn't fancifully imagined this dream into being. He couldn't let her see it… _if_ he could change it, anyway.

Closing his eyes, Solas reached outward with his senses, ignoring the ache that started up from his vacant mana core, and willed this dream away. The Fade had been sluggish with him since coming to the tower, failing to react to him at all for the first week or so. Now, however, he felt the caress of magic diminish as the dream changed and shuddered with loss even as his heart surged with triumph. He envisioned the forest that he'd explored around his village's land instead, but imagined it without the telltale presence of the Fade—no green ether, no wisps playing in the canopy, and no sign of the brilliant colors that'd typically be in the sky.

Opening his eyes after a time, Solas saw he'd been successful, but he swayed as pain streaked through his temples. Hissing through his clenched teeth, Solas stumbled down to his knees in the loamy earth. Breathing raggedly, he blinked away the moisture in his eyes and clutched at the thick moss beneath his hands as he waited for the agony to pass. It was similar to pain brought on from drinking or eating something cold too fast, but this was a new, unfamiliar ailment that'd only begun plaguing him in the last week since he attempted to reshape the Fade in larger increments. This was his biggest effort yet and, as such, it hurt the most.

Yet, when he could breathe and focus again as the pain receded, Solas found himself staring at the verdant forest. Golden sunlight filtered through the canopy and birds sang from the trees. Toadstools were scattered over the forest floor, sprouting from thick leaf litter, and brown half-circle mushrooms protruded from the tree trunk he'd collapsed beside. Ants scurried around his fingers and one had crawled up his arm under the sleeve. Rolling it up, Solas flicked the little insect away as he got to his feet.

It was only a few minutes later that he sensed the presence of another Dreamer, like eyes on him from behind. Whipping around, Solas saw Rosa leaning against the mossy tree covered in mushrooms. She wore her Dalish Keeper armor and had her arms crossed over her chest, a tight smile on her lips as she regarded him.

" _Andaran atish'an,_ flat-ear," she said with a dip of her chin. "A lovely forest you've dreamt up for us."

"Lethallan," Solas replied, also giving her a nod. He tucked his hands behind his back. "I assume Rogathe has not slipped away from you over the course of the day?"

"Nope," she agreed, her eyes dropping to the leaf litter. "But I've had some time to think about what went wrong. You said Rogathe was ready to leave me. It could let go and return to the Fade, but it didn't. That means _I_ kept it here." She tapped her breastbone with a sigh.

Solas chewed the inside of his cheek as he nodded. "Yes." He refused to reveal how much it impressed him that she'd managed to deduce this for herself. "I suspect it is unintentional. Rationally, you understand that Rogathe places you in greater danger than you would be in without the spirit's presence. Yet, unconsciously, you cling to Rogathe, craving its power."

"No," she growled, pushing off the tree. Her hands fell to her sides, fisting. "It's not that. It can't be or else I would have tainted Rogathe, wouldn't I?"

Solas watched her, breathing slow and deep as he contemplated his next words. The air in the woods smelled musty and moist, ripe with life. It reminded him of his much younger self, relatively free and careless save for the need to hide the true strength of his innate powers. As gently as he could, Solas said, "I did not mean to suggest you desired Rogathe's strength out of selfishness or with a mind tainted with carnage."

Her brow knit, eyes narrowing with confusion rather than hostility. "Then…" She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat as her features warped. "Ah. I see." Staring down at her hands, which had begun fidgeting in front of her, Rosa said, "You're saying I'm afraid. Of the Templars. Of being trapped in the tower forever. Of losing Tal…" At the mention of her brother, Rosa cut herself off. Her mouth twisted and she let out a quavering breath.

"Precisely," Solas said. "You cling to Rogathe the way you would a good staff, or a blade hidden up your sleeve. It is senseless to disarm oneself of an invisible weapon when surrounded by hostility." He nodded, keeping his voice even and calm to ensure she knew he intended no mockery and that her situation was nothing to be ashamed of.

"I didn't think I was clinging to it," Rosa murmured and her mouth twisted with frustration. Groaning, she rubbed at her face. "How do I let go, Revas?"

Solas smiled at her, warm but closed-lipped. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with that, lethallan." Shifting on his feet, he took a slow step closer to her, his hands tucked behind his back like a lecturer. "I suppose if you were not a Dreamer I could have entered your dreams and manipulated them to influence your subconscious. But, as you are decidedly _not_ a mindless, idle sleeper, I am unfortunately unable to render any assistance."

She shot him a questioning look. "Are you saying you can shape the Fade again? Are your powers returning?"

"Somewhat," he hedged, moving around the opposite side of the tree from her and flicking casually at the mushrooms growing there. "But not enough to be reliable, unfortunately."

"So," Rosa said, smirking. "It'll still be on me to safeguard your orb."

Solas' fingers grazing the slick, slightly slimy surface of the mushroom stilled as he processed her terminology. _Your orb…_

"It is not _mine_ , Rosa," he said firmly. He could just see her watching him around the girth of the mossy tree trunk. "No more than the Fade is mine."

She snorted and made a sweeping gesture to encompass the Fade. "We're Dreamers, Revas. We might as well own the Fade. Bad example."

"We do _not_ own it," Solas retorted testily, glaring. "As for the artifact, I found it, presumably, within the ruins. If they were some type of uthenera tomb as you suggested, then perhaps the sleeper perished in earlier raids and left this foci unguarded as a result. These relics may have been given to all ancients who entered uthenera."

Her features eased into an expression of contemplation. After a moment, she shrugged. "Could be. I can't say one way or another. Either way, I take it I'm still in charge of scrambling people's dreams to ensure the foci remains safe?"

Clenching his jaw, Solas nodded. "There is no need, however, to _scramble_ anything unless they decide to study the orb." Pausing a moment, Solas circled back around the tree to be closer to Rosa, watching her expression for hints as he asked, "Have you ever influenced another through dreams before, lethallan?"

She arched a lone brow at him; her lips curling in that coy smile he'd grown to both hate and love. "Have you?"

 _More times than I could count,_ Solas thought. Of course, in Elvhenan other Dreamers girded their dreams to ward off such attacks. Lesser Dreamers and their servants or allies lacking the full gift had to use herbs to keep themselves from the Fade or risk falling prey to those more powerful or cruel. While in service to Mythal Solas had killed more than a few in their sleep, or driven some insane after only a night or a nap. But to reach such capability Solas had had to train alongside Mythal, observe her methods to perfect his own. How had Rosa managed such a thing?

She _must_ have known another Dreamer.

"I have not," Solas lied. "But I know from Tevinter tales such things can be done. I have studied ancient texts and walked the Fade speaking with spirits to glean some measure of understanding regarding what is needed." He stared at her, trying not to frown at the coy smile she still wore. "It is a delicate task, one I am uncertain you are…suited for."

She cocked her head, smirking at him. "Well, then I suppose you'd best do it yourself, flat-ear. If you can't trust me to do your dirty work you'll just have to wait until your talent returns in the fullness of time."

Frowning with irritation, Solas huffed. "I cannot. You know this."

"Do I?" She inched closer, getting into his personal space. Solas refused to recoil or cringe backward. Even in the Fade she carried a potent scent that sent his stomach roiling and his blood flushing with heat.

Her violet eyes drilled into him with challenge. "The only thing I know is you're very much afraid of what will happen if the shemlen interact with it. So afraid, in fact, that you'd risk sending someone like me off to do it, even though it's clear you consider me some kind of blundering bull in a fine porcelain shop. Better to smash their minds than allow the foci to be studied or misused, apparently. But we've already gone over the fact you don't feel I'm qualified." She shrugged, her smile turning hard and humorless as she crossed her arms over her chest. "At this point you just have to trust me."

"This was not about whether I trust you or not," Solas snapped, glaring at her. He'd wanted to fish further information out of her, to learn how much she knew about her powers as a Dreamer—and _how_ she'd learned it in this post-Veil world where their kind was all but extinct. He'd also wanted to ensure she could act with the precision needed to accomplish the goal and still remain safe herself. Clinging to that sentiment, he said, "I merely was concerned for…" He broke off, averting his gaze as he realized how…personal that sounded.

"For what?" Rosa asked. Her arms fell to her sides and she took a step closer to him. "For the foci?" she prompted. "For the First Enchanter? The Knight-Commander? The Seeker?" She walked around him like a circling wolf, looking for the best spot to nip at her prey.

"For _you,_ " Solas growled, still glaring as he pivoted to face her, but as their eyes locked with one another he felt his irritation drain away.

She stared at him, frozen a moment as her violet eyes skittered over his face. Solas remembered her hand on him in the library and felt his body flush with warmth, his heart skipping a beat as it picked up its pace. The daringness of her, the gleam in her gaze, reminded him powerfully of Mythal with a rush of dizziness. She was too _real._ The desire to reach out and touch her, squeeze her shoulder or brush his fingers on her cheek was nearly unbearable, making his hands twitch. It would be so easy to do, here in the Fade, where he was whole in body and not wracked with pain. Here in the Fade where everything was so much easier…

Then Rosa broke the moment as she scoffed, withdrawing a step and smirking at him. "Careful, flat-ear, or you could give me the wrong impression."

Solas felt his lips quirking up and then down as he struggled to maintain a pseudo-neutral expression and failed. "I know with certainty that I have already inadvertently given you many false impressions," he wisecracked, finally letting himself smirk back at her.

Rosa lifted both hands, palms out in a gesture of stop. "No, no, no, Revas," she said with a chuckle. "You're supposed to ask me what wrong impression you might give me." She winked at him. "Don't you know anything?"

Letting out a short laugh of his own, Solas shook his head. "It would appear I do not." He opened his mouth to ask that question, to play along, but snapped it shut again. He could guess where that would lead and didn't want to encourage either of them. This…flirtation could not be allowed to progress unchecked. It was too dangerous. For him, for her, and for both of them in achieving the ultimate goal of escape from the Circle.

Whipping around elegantly in a single motion, Rosa strode through the leaf litter a few steps away before turning to look at him over her shoulder. The dappled sunshine glinted from her armor and made her mischievous gaze all the brighter. "Don't you know how to play the game?"

Solas arched a brow. "I was not aware we were involved in a game." He hesitated a moment, frowning. "Unless you're referring to the Orlesian national pastime of courtly intrigue?"

This drew a scowl, complete with a wrinkled nose from Rosa. "Ugh. Not that old shemlen nonsense. We Dalish don't have time for that rubbish."

"Well," Solas said with a slight nod. "It is indeed difficult to practice courtly intrigue when one lacks a court. Or a kingdom."

"Mythal have mercy," Rosa grumbled, rolling her eyes. "You should have been named Abelas, flat-ear. You're a real killjoy sometimes." She proceeded to walk further into the woods, passing between light and shadow, her back to him.

Solas watched her go in silence, distracted by the sway of her hips until he recalled that they had not resolved the most pressing issue, other than the foci: Rogathe.

"Where are you going?" Solas called out to her.

She shouted to him over her shoulder. "I have a long night of dream stalking, Revas."

He started to jog after her, the leaves and moss crunching and rustling underfoot. When he had closed the distance enough that he could reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder—though he did no such thing—Solas said, "Please, don't go yet, lethallan. We must find a way to decouple you from Rogathe to keep you safe."

She halted mid-step but kept staring straight ahead through the tranquil, verdant forest. Her shoulders heaved once and then she flexed, stretching slightly. "I have an idea of why I've trapped Rogathe."

"What do you believe?" Solas asked.

She shot him a sidelong look, her jaw clenching. "I'm not going to tell you."

"And why is that?" Solas asked, voice sharp with annoyance.

Her shoulders rose and fell as she huffed out a sigh. "You've made it clear you don't trust me countless times, Revas, and I let you do it. Why do you _refuse_ to allow me the same consideration?" She turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him in criticism.

Frowning, Solas started to protest, "I am simply attempting to safeguard—"

Rosa interrupted him, pivoting to clasp his bicep in her hand with a firm grip, startling him into complete silence at the surprise of her touch. "Rogathe is a spirit of bravery. It _will_ leave when I calm my fears."

Struggling to focus beyond the warmth of her touch, radiating even through his tunic, Solas nodded. "You intend to shape the Fade to calm your fears?" he asked, guessing. She could alter her own mood or mind with the right dreams, convincing herself to let go of the spirit. It seemed a likely solution.

She tilted her head, eyes still narrowed. "Yes," she said with a half-shrug. "You think it will work?"

"I believe it may, yes. The Fade could provide a catharsis through dreams, as effective as any meditation. But should that not work, please, do not hesitate to ask for my help with this." Smiling tentatively, Solas reached for her hand on his bicep and clasped it in one of his, squeezing before deliberately retreating backward a step. " _Dareth shiral,_ lethallan."

Her smile now was soft and genuine. "And you as well," she said before smirking as she added. "Flat-ear."

* * *

With the library dusted the previous day, the mage who assigned the apprentices chores decided to challenge Solas with a more physically taxing duty: sweeping. So it was that Solas returned to the library with instructions to sweep the upper level, classrooms, and then the first floor and stairs. He collected the wooden broom with its rough bristles and the accompanying dustpan from the alcove where he and Rosa had hidden the previous day and proceeded to the nearest classroom to do as bidden.

This early in the morning the classroom, typically used by enchanters and mages for more advanced study rather than by apprentices learning the basics of magic, was abandoned. A few wooden desks took up the middle of the room with bookshelves and workbenches along the walls. Solas walked to the small window on the far wall and stared out through the glass, which had an uneven patina of discoloration rendering it opaque. He saw green, distant and far below, warped and unclear by the glass. The day appeared to be cloudy, gloomy with the promise of rain.

Was it still summer? Or had the world transitioned to autumn while he was trapped in this tower? When he leaned to one side he thought he saw a speck of yellow coloration that _could_ have been a tree or perhaps a stretch of dried grass or sand that'd caught the sun…?

Sighing, Solas scrubbed at his face with frustration, looking down at his apprentice's robes draped over his wizened body. As he did each morning, he also reached inward, poking at his mana core and finding it depressingly, achingly, empty. As usual.

Swallowing hard, Solas buried the press of emotion, refusing to pity himself. Clasping the broom, he set to work. The tediousness of the motion quickly made his arms throb and a few muscles in his sides, abdomen, and particularly his back burned with the use.

Halfway through the room he slumped into a desk and let his muscles relax for a time, breathing much faster than he cared to admit. Sweat gathered at his collar and ran down his back. He fantasized about the bath he was scheduled to receive tonight with a deep sigh. When he felt comfortable enough to continue, Solas set to work again.

By lunch he'd finished the upper level and was sweeping his way down the stairs when he heard authoritative footsteps stomp through the doorway behind him. Puffing, Solas turned carefully on the stair he stood on and saw Ser Bartholomew striding through the lower level, heading for the stairs. The Templar's eyes were locked on Solas, narrowed. Something in the human man's demeanor set Solas' already tired, aching muscles rigid with apprehension.

Smiling politely, Solas said, "Ser Bartholomew. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?"

Ser Bartholomew halted at the base of the staircase, standing at attention. "Revas," he greeted with a slight dip of his head and the barest hint of an upward tick of his lips. "I've been instructed to escort you to meet with Knight-Commander Kali."

Solas didn't bother to hide his surprise at this news. Had the Templars and the Seeker changed their minds about allowing him to study the orb? Or was this something else entirely? His chest tightened and his skin went cold with dread. He wanted to question Bartholomew but decided against it based on the Tenplar's stiff stance. This was not the time to make idle chitchat—it was a time for obedience.

"Certainly," Solas said and carried the broom and dustpan down the last few steps to the first floor where he could lean them safely against a bookshelf.

Ser Bartholomew moved in close to him as he stowed the cleaning tools, his armor clanking. "Do you require assistance in walking?"

"I can manage very well now," Solas said with a genuine smile now. Doubtless, Bartholomew needed to know about his health so he could collect on the innumerable bets he likely had going with others on the topic.

Sure enough, Bartholomew grinned. "Maker! You resilient bastard, Revas. You just won me fifty royals from three different people."

Smirking at the Templar, Solas said, "I believe you may have a bit of a gambling obsession, Ser Bartholomew."

The ginger cocked his head, still grinning as he laughed. "Care to put a wager on that?"

As Solas chuckled, Bartholomew led him out of the library. Following at the swift clip Bartholomew set made Solas sweat anew, but he pushed through the discomfort. His own exchange with the Templar ran through his mind as they walked and the more Solas contemplated it, the more he cringed at his own reaction. When had he started to find Bartholomew's betting amusing? When had he begun to see the Templar as _friendly_ instead of a _jailer?_ Bartholomew was the friendliest of the Templars that Solas had yet encountered, seemingly with no fear of interaction or attachment to his charges. The others all at least attempted to pretend they were aloof and stoic around their captives, but Bartholomew, while far from perfect, seemed overall to be a decent man.

And somewhere, deep inside, he had to wonder if Bartholomew's gambling addiction hadn't been what saved Solas' life. Would Ser Jeremy or that cretin Ser Curtis have remembered to feed Solas so regularly? Would either of those men have convinced the Knight-Commander to let him out of the cells? The answer was obvious and resounding: _No._ He would have died alone, cold, and starving in his dank cell.

So, although Bartholomew was just another Templar jailer…was there truly harm in feeling something...pleasant for him?

 _He isn't real,_ the mantra repeated in Solas' mind. _None of them are real._

Except Rosa—and Tal, perhaps.

 _But if they are real, if their struggles and emotions and lives matter…why not Bartholomew's?_ The annoying voice in his mind needled him, gnawing at the subject like a wolf on a bone, seeking the last bits of marrow.

Every answer he could provide to that question rang hollow and untrue. _Because Bartholomew is not elven? Because he possesses no magic? Because he is a Templar? Because he is Andrastian?_ Those distinctions became meaningless the moment he admitted that Rosa and Tal were _real_ and as deserving of life as any of the Elvhen slumbering in uthenera.

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed to himself. _Stop. Thinking. Now._

His legs were shaking by the time he reached the Knight-Commander's office, still following behind Bartholomew. In the waiting area outside Solas blinked with astonishment as he saw both Rosa and Tal already seated in the wooden chairs along the stone wall. The Dalish siblings looked up at him as well. Tal appeared bewildered, eyes springing wide as he recognized Solas and then his brow furrowed as if with confusion. Rosa, meanwhile, cast only a quick glance in his direction before dropping her gaze to her lap and picking at a loose thread in the embroidery around her belt.

"Have a seat, Revas," Bartholomew told him with a grunt. "The Knight-Commander will summon you inside when she's ready."

"Of course," Solas replied with a curt nod. He walked over, shuffling with his aching thighs, and plopped down in the seat beside Tal. "Good afternoon," he greeted them both.

"Do you have any idea why we've been summoned?" Tal asked him, twisting in his chair. The young elf's brown eyes drilled into him, intense in their need for an answer. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, glancing briefly toward his sister. Rosa, for her part, continued to ignore them both.

"I'm afraid I do not," Solas said with a tight smile. Trying to ease Tal's tension, Solas aimed for levity by quipping, "Have you been making trouble again, lethallin? Imbibing too much drink with Master Tethras, perhaps?"

Tal scoffed, then chuckled. "I wish." Then, licking his lips, Tal switched to elven, _"My sister knows why we are here."_

Rosa's head popped up, her eyes narrowing in silent warning aimed at her brother. "Stop that," she growled under her breath, shooting a look toward the hallway a few meters away where Bartholomew stood watch. "Speak common. Our old life is over."

Ignoring her reprimand, Tal went on, _"There are secrets between you and my sister,_ lethallin." He leaned closer, deliberately ignoring Rosa's silent glares. _"Tell me what you know."_

A quick look at Rosa revealed she'd clenched her jaw and now stared into her lap, absorbed with picking at her robes again. Considering Rosa could have shared their plans with Tal via dreams, her decision not to do so seemed deliberate to Solas. He would honor it to be safe, though the mounting strain between the siblings made his palms sweat with nervousness. Did Rosa not even trust her own brother, or was she trying to protect him with ignorance? Tal seemed guileless and easygoing, traits that were admirable, but also foolhardy. Already Solas had seen Tal seemed to have trouble keeping secrets and was far quicker to trust. Yet, surely, Rosa didn't think her brother would betray them to the Templars?

Not purposefully, anyway.

Keeping his voice low, Solas said, _"I know nothing. This is a subject you should discuss with your sister."_

"Okay, enough of that jabbering," Bartholomew snapped from his position in the hall, only half-visible. Solas and Tal could see Bartholomew's shoulder, his armor shiny enough to gleam despite the relatively low light of the windowless waiting area.

"Warned you," Rosa said in a singsong voice as she snatched a loose thread from her robes, breaking it with a slick snapping noise.

The thump of armored boots came from just beyond the closed doorway of the Knight-Commander's then and a moment later the door opened with a creak of rusty hinges. Ser Jade strode out, her jaw clenched and her expression pinched. She nodded toward Bartholomew and then headed for the stairwell with a stiff set to her shoulders. Behind her, framed in the entranceway, was the thickset, armored form of Knight-Commander Kali, looking equally unhappy as she surveyed the three awaiting mages.

"You three," she ordered gruffly, motioning at them. "In here, now."

Solas waited as Rosa and Tal took the lead, knowing his pace would be slowest. He followed the siblings into the Knight-Commander's office, noting that Ser Bartholomew stepped inside after him and shut the heavy wooden door with a creaking thump. Blinking with surprise, Solas also saw that Seeker Pentaghast was seated beside the Knight-Commander's desk, her gauntleted forearm resting on the wood in what he suspected was a deceptively relaxed posture. The Seeker's brown eyes swept over all three of them, skipping over Rosa and Tal to linger on him. Solas nodded at her, smiling politely but saying nothing as the Knight-Commander stomped her away around the desk and began official introductions.

With a sweeping gesture at the Dalish siblings, Kali said, "Seeker Pentaghast, I'd like to introduce you to apprentices Rosa and Tal. I believe you've already met apprentice Revas."

The Seeker turned her attention to the Dalish elves and dipped her chin. "Greetings." Her voice was cold and hard, her eyes steely.

"Hello there," Tal answered, smiling in his usual friendly way. Authority didn't seem to phase the youth, though Rosa at his side appeared tense.

The Seeker stared at him a moment, something like curiosity glinting in her eyes. She tapped her fingers on the wood of the Knight-Commander's desk and then turned her head to regard Kali. "Knight-Commander, I wonder if you might explain to them why they're here."

Kali scowled but nodded, looking to the three of them. Solas tried to keep his heart from pounding with dread and struggled to ignore the cold sweat collecting on his chest and back. Was his head shiny with it? _Fenedhis,_ he thought. And forced the worry from his mind. He didn't need that kind of stress. His magic and his body had already betrayed him enough.

"We are conducting an investigation," Kali said in her deep, authoritative voice. "There was…an unusual death last night."

"A death?" Tal asked, lips parting and eyes springing open wide. "One of the mages? Or an apprentice?"

"A Templar," the Seeker said, almost barking the two words. Her eyes drilled into all three of them, scrutinizing their reactions.

Solas held his breath as realization dawned. His chest tightened and his pulse throbbed in his head. He stared at the Seeker and let his surprise show itself, though he said nothing. With an iron will, he refused to let himself glance over at Rosa.

"A Templar?" Tal parroted, gawking with disbelief as he looked between the Seeker and the Knight-Commander. "Seriously?"

"Sadly, yes," Kali replied with a grunt, her features twisting in a scowl. "I'm sure about now you three are wondering why this involves you." Leaning back in her chair slightly, her brown eyes darted to Rosa and remained there. "I called you three here because I know you lot were recently acquainted with the Templar who died: Ser Curtis Bardon."

___________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip out. "I understand you're supposed to be a _seeker of truth._ I don't know what you shemlen think that means, but to me it means understanding the full context. You want to know why I'm not broken up about hearing Curtis is dead? Why I haven't said anything? It's not about the damned pendant or him being _harsh_ as you put it."

"Then what _is_ it about?" the Seeker asked, her lip curling slightly with exasperation.

Emboldened, Rosa went on in a fiery voice. "The truth is in everything you didn't hear about—what I'm sure no one told the Knight-Commander about either. Tell me, Seeker, did you hear about the way Curtis beat me in the cells when I was first brought in? Or about the way he groped my ass and pinched my breasts? And after talking with some of the other apprentices I know that wasn't uncommon behavior for that asshole."

_____________________________________

Author note: Did anyone guess what Rosa would do to "face her fear"? I hinted at it with this chapter's quote and everything! I do delight in trying to surprise everyone! Let me know if I got you! ;-) I also LOVE the slow-building flirtation. 


	10. Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you live long enough, you have the time to study spells you might only need on rare occasions. Most of the humans are happy enough just to throw fire or lightning." Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas tries to whittle more information from Rosa. Did she purposefully kill Ser Curtis? He also witnesses an argument between the siblings.

"Ser Curtis is _dead?"_ Tal asked, shock making his voice thin. "How did he—"

"That is not what we are here to discuss at present," the Seeker cut him off with a dismissive wave of one armored hand.

The glint of that metal armor made Solas' spine stiffen, recalling Bartholomew's presence behind him. Bartholomew evened the odds in this group between magic users and melee weapons: three on three. And, because Solas was currently near-Tranquil, the actual odds were two against three. Solas could almost smell the tension suddenly and shifted his weight from one foot to another, trying to release some of his anxiety with the tiny motion.

Unfortunately it drew the Seeker's gaze, narrowed and suspicious. "The Knight-Commander has told me you three were involved in an altercation with Ser Curtis just two days ago." She paused, letting the words sink in, one eyebrow cocked. "I find this a peculiar coincidence."

Drawing in a breath, Solas calmed himself by letting his memories spool quickly over his mind's eye. _This is_ nothing _compared to facing Elgar'nan, Falon'Din, or Andruil,_ he reminded himself. The icy sensation in his stomach dissipated and his heart slowed. His body relaxed.

"Yeah," Tal agreed with the Seeker, sounding genuine in his bafflement. "It _is_ a weird coincidence." He blinked at the Knight-Commander and the Seeker, shrugging. "But I still don't see why you summoned us…?"

Quashing the desire to cringe at Tal's naivety, regardless of whether it was real or fabricated, Solas decided he was composed enough now to risk speaking. Clearing his throat, he asked in an even voice, "Surely you aren't suggesting _we_ are involved?"

Tal twisted to glance at Solas, frowning with what appeared to be real confusion. "How could we be? I mean, we're locked up every night in the barracks. It's impossible." He broke off chuckling with a note of anxiousness. _"Fenedhis_ , I don't even know where the Templars sleep, or where any of them are stationed…"

Solas didn't miss the way the Seeker looked to Kali at Tal's comment _'Templars sleep,'_ and he restrained the cold shudder of dread that washed over him. Tal could have just been rambling and truly possessed no knowledge of how Curtis was killed, but Solas doubted it and the Seeker appeared to as well. Now they had to be wondering if Tal had more knowledge of Curtis' death than he should have. He clenched his jaw, hoping Tal hadn't just accidentally implicated himself.

The Knight-Commander shook her head. "We are still investigating at this point, apprentice. However, we must pursue all possibilities, no matter how remote." Pausing a moment, she reached for something below her desk and Solas heard the hollow grinding noise of a drawer opening. A moment later she produced a leather-bound logbook and flipped it open. Even upside down and from several meters away, Solas could guess she was reading over the account of two days ago when Curtis and Ser Jade had hauled the three elves up here regarding the pendant.

"I've not heard anything from you," the Seeker said, motioning toward Rosa.

Rosa thrust out her chin, her jaw muscles snapping taut and her violet eyes dark. "What would you have me say?" she asked. "Did the Knight-Commander tell you about _why_ we had an _altercation_ with Ser Curtis?"

"You possessed contraband," the Seeker said gruffly, glaring somberly with disapproval. "Ser Curtis was rather harsh when he attempted to remove it."

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip out. "I understand you're supposed to be a _seeker of truth._ I don't know what you shemlen think that means, but to me it means understanding the full context. You want to know why I'm not broken up about hearing Curtis is dead? Why I haven't said anything? It's not about the damned pendant or him being _harsh_ as you put it."

"Then what _is_ it about?" the Seeker asked, her lip curling slightly with exasperation.

Emboldened, Rosa went on in a fiery voice. "The truth is in everything you didn't hear about—what I'm sure no one told the Knight-Commander about either. Tell me, Seeker, did you hear about the way Curtis beat me in the cells when I was first brought in? Or about the way he groped my ass and pinched my breasts? And after talking with some of the other apprentices I know that wasn't uncommon behavior for that asshole."

The Seeker and the Knight-Commander stared at Rosa with uncomfortable expressions, struggling for neutrality. Solas dropped his own gaze to the floor, feeling heat creep across his face. He was speaking before realizing he was doing it, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of cold rage. "What she says is true. You will find we feel no pity for Ser Curtis. I suspect his behavior was not restricted solely to Rosa. Whatever the circumstances of his death, I expect you will discover he had a plethora of enemies within this tower."

"Seeker Pentaghast," Kali said, her voice strained as if with pain. Her cheeks were beet red, her eyes furious. "I cannot verify any of what these two—"

"Three," Tal interrupted, edging closer to his sister. "I witnessed that sick bastard fondling her. I begged him to stop—" He cut himself off with a choking sound. He was shaking, his composure hanging by a thread. His hands curled into fists at his side. "I dawdled in the baths so I could walk with her, to try and protect her, to keep her from being alone with him. If I hadn't been there—he could, he would have…"

The Seeker held up a hand, palm out, in a motion commanding silence. Her expression was hard, brow furrowed and lips twisted downward. Yet her eyes had crinkled with a softer emotion—sympathy. "I believe you, apprentice." Her gaze transferred to Rosa and Solas next. "All of you."

Rosa's expression, which had been steely and clouded with quiet rage softened now. Her arms fell to her side and she nodded to the Seeker. "Thank you."

Huffing, the Knight-Commander interjected irritably, "If we've quite finished with vilifying Ser Curtis, I'd like to continue." She had produced an inkwell and quill while they spoke and now held it poised over the parchment in her logbook. "Seeker Pentaghast, what do you wish to note about this interview?"

The Seeker slid back in her seat without breaking eye contact with Rosa. Then, abruptly, she switched her hawk-like gaze to the Knight-Commander. "I believe much of what these three had to say regarding Ser Curtis' misbehavior toward female mages should be recorded and investigated. As you said earlier, all possibilities must be pursued and, based on this new testimony, I suspect Ser Curtis may have had more enemies than we are aware."

The Knight-Commander scowled but began writing, the quill scratching as it traced over the parchment. To the three elves the Seeker indicated the door. "You are all free to go."

As Solas turned to leave he saw Bartholomew's pinched lips and tight expression and wondered what went on behind the other man's stoic mask. Did he recall Curtis' cruelty, or had he blinded himself to it? Had he wanted to speak out but feared reprisal from the Knight-Commander? Solas couldn't be certain.

Out in the hallway they were silent as they trudged down the long circling flights of stairs toward the lower levels, which held the dining hall and the apprentices' barracks. Solas' aching thighs and stiff knees distracted him. Even grasping the bannister running alongside the stairs did little to help him keep up with the nimbler Dalish siblings. Still, he was close enough to the bottom that he saw it when Tal suddenly lunged for Rosa, snatching her forearm, and pushed her into a wall beside a bookshelf _._ A heartbeat later Solas heard a gentle _whump-pop_ of a spell and felt magic caress his skin. The air shimmered in a bubble overtop the siblings.

Tal's lips moved, his face twisting with anger and pain, but Solas couldn't hear a single word of it. Solas' mouth fell open before he could stop it as he recognized the spell—sound deadening. Clutching the bannister, Solas hesitated at the edge of the casting, his skin tingling with the nearness of it. He knew Tal well enough to recognize the youth's magic, the unique feel of it like a personal scent or a fingerprint. Tal had cast this spell to gain a moment of privacy to confront Rosa—likely about the fact she'd killed Curtis—and Solas wanted to respect their desire for privacy even as curiosity twisted inside his stomach.

Tal seemed to be yelling at her, as agitated as Solas had ever seen him. He loomed over Rosa as much as his slight height advantage allowed, inside her personal space and with both hands on her shoulders, gripping tightly. He gave her a little shake and Rosa slammed a palm down on his chest, pivoting to one side simultaneously, freeing herself from his grasp. Her posture was defensive and angry as well. She slashed with a hand in a gesture that seemed to indicate Solas. Confirming that, Solas saw Tal's brown eyes fly briefly toward him before refocusing on his sister and shaking his head. It seemed that whatever Rosa had to say, Tal didn't much like it or possibly didn't believe it.

Rosa whipped around and started to walk away, but before she could reach the edge of the sound bubble, Tal grabbed her again. They had another heated exchange with Tal doing most of the talking, but with the youth's back to Solas he had little chance of understanding it. Yet, it seemed that whatever Tal said this time finally had an effect on Rosa. Her posture eased and her expression softened until her eyes grew a touch too bright, as if with unshed tears.

Then she pulled him into an embrace, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Tal reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in turn, eyes closed as he leaned his head against her. It was a personal gesture, a scene Solas felt he was intruding upon, but he found himself unable to turn away as the emotional impact of the sibling reconciliation settled on him. Solas had been an only-child, as so many in Elvhenan's middle class were, and seeing Rosa and Tal's connection made something inside him ache with envy that he had never known this type of relationship. He had forged countless strong bonds of friendship in his long life, with physical beings and spirits alike, but the idea of sharing blood and a full history with another person…

He shook off the thought, frowning to himself as he finally managed to pry his gaze away and stare at the cold gray stone beneath his slipper-bound feet. Only a few moments later the caress of the magic over his skin faded and Solas glanced up in time to catch the last glimmering sparkles of the spell fade away. Tal and Rosa stood a few meters from him, as if waiting on him to reach them.

"Come along, Revas," Tal said with a grin that almost reached his eyes, but wasn't quite enough to hide the slight redness of them that hinted at recent upset.

"Yeah, flat-ear," Rosa added, smirking. "We're going to miss lunch." Like her brother, Rosa's eyes had a red-rimmed, bloodshot quality that belied her jovialness.

"And whose fault will it be if we do?" Solas mock-chided before scoffing with feigned annoyance. "Mine, I suppose?"

"Yep," Rosa said as she fell in line beside Solas, extending her arm to help him walk. "Who else's fault would it be?"

Solas accepted her arm, glad for the support as they took off at a fast clip for the dining hall.

* * *

 

In his deep storytelling voice, Tal said, "Once, long ago, there were no dwarves and no shemlen. Only the People walked the world, and the first of us—the greatest of us—were the Creators."

"Wait up a minute, Stoic," Varric said, lifting one meaty palm with the palm outward to halt Tal's story. The other hand remained clasped about the quill, hovering over the parchment to take down notes. "Remind me who these characters are? I'm a little fuzzy on the elven pantheon."

Solas stabbed broccoli with his fork and ate it, chewing the fibrous vegetable and saying nothing as he feigned disinterest. He wasn't the least bit curious about Tal's tale, but he _was_ intrigued with observing Rosa's reactions to it and found himself wishing she would engage with the storytelling. Her clan might have preserved a more accurate history and very different tales because of its recent Elvhen ancestry. But, so far, Rosa seemed preoccupied with using her spoon to scoop up what was left of the cheese sauce used on the vegetables.

Killing Curtis and Fade walking had likely left her drained. Solas knew from personal experience how famished one could be after a night of haunting others' dreams.

"They're _gods,"_ Tal corrected the dwarf, though his voice held no heat. "For this story you only need to know who Elgar'nan and Mythal are, really. Elgar'nan is the All-Father, the first elf to ever walk the earth. He was the son of the sun and the earth, created where they joined. Mythal is the All-Mother, the second elf to ever walk the earth and Elgar'nan's wife. She was born of the sea. She's the protector and the merciful one."

"Except when you're an asshole," Rosa cut in. "Then she's all rage and fury, just like Elgar'nan."

Solas bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

Varric grunted, writing quickly with a scratch of the quill. "Sounds about right. The strong, angry dad and the righteous, wise mother. Classic literature theme right there."

"Anyway," Tal went on. "In those days the People lived underground as well. The People there dug deep into the cracks left after Elgar'nan's battle with his father, the sun. They sought riches and metal and created enormous cities as they mined it. One day Mythal went to visit one of these belowground cities. There she met with the nobleman in charge of it and asked for tithes in tribute that she might share the great beauty of the belowground cities with the surface folk. But the nobleman was selfish and he believed Mythal asked too much. He held no respect for the Creators and all they had done in shaping the world and fighting the evil Forgotten Ones. So, he decided to trick her. He—"

"Is this the tale about the trickster wolf god?" Varric asked, rubbing his face with his free hand, making the stubble scrape against his palm. "Because I'm pretty sure Daisy told me that one."

Solas withheld a sigh and switched to using his spoon on his stew.

"No," Tal answered with a shake of his head. "This is the story of how dwarves came to be."

Varric chuckled dryly. "I'm pretty sure I know how dwarves are made, Stoic. I'll tell you how it works when you're older."

Rosa snorted. "Are you kidding, Varric?" She used her spoon to point at Tal. "He'll try to seduce a halla if he thinks he has a shot with it. I'm surprised he hasn't made a move on you or Revas yet."

Solas choked on his latest mouthful, coughing and grimacing. Catching his breath, he saw Rosa grinning mischievously at him while Varric wore an amused smile. Solas fumbled for a napkin, wiping at his mouth and trying to ignore the hot blush stealing over his cheeks.

Tal, beside him, shrugged. "Guilty as charged, I guess. But this isn't the sort of place that inspires much flirting." He swirled his spoon through his own stew as he added, "Besides, I don't see any halla around here, so my options are pretty limited."

Now Varric guffawed, slapping his meaty hand on the table with enjoyment. "All right, Stoic, stop trying to kill us all with laughter." He took a swig from his flask and sighed with satisfaction as he put it back down. "On with the story. I want to hear how elves think dwarves were created."

Leaning forward with fresh zeal, Tal resumed the tale. "The nobleman found simple crystals that had little or no value and painted them so he wouldn't lose anything to the surface dwellers. Then, when he handed it over to Mythal, he demanded she give his people greater tithes of food in exchange. It was many times more than what the meager gems were worth, even had they been real. Mythal understood that he hoped to feed his people—after all, we cannot eat stone, cannot drink it—but she saw through his ploy, for she was wise beyond the nobleman's meager understanding.

"So, in her generousness, Mythal confronted him and said that if he provided what they'd originally agreed upon—real gems this time—she would give him more food for his people. But the nobleman was affronted and humiliated that she had seen through him, so he rejected her offer. Then he set his entire city upon her, hoping to slay her. Overwhelmed, Mythal tried to flee but could not. The nobleman found that even with all the warriors of his city, he could not slay her."

"Because, of course, you cannot kill a god," Varric supplied. "Convenient, for the gods anyway."

Tal nodded. "The nobleman locked her away then, to keep her from fleeing to the surface. But Elgar'nan saw Mythal in a dream and learned the truth. He was so incensed that he used magic to become a dragon and descended deep into the underground to punish not just the nobleman, but the whole city and all those who lived beneath the earth."

Varric whistled. "Somehow I think _incensed_ wasn't a strong enough description. Guy sounds like he lost his shit."

"Elgar'nan was perpetually pissed off," Rosa put in, smirking. "His name in our language literally means spirit of vengeance."

Solas mulled over the stew in his mouth, watching the two elves and the dwarf as they talked and trying not to picture the actual man these three spoke of. Solas had been born in Elgar'nan's lands, the last Evanuris to be discovered although Ghilan'nain was actually younger—not that age mattered in those days. Elgar'nan had been a distant figure in his youth, a literal god when he was a child, but his parents had known otherwise and whispered the truth to him when he was old enough to understand it. Elgar'nan was very old, born of the Fade and very powerful, but he was no god and as flawed as any Elvhen man or woman. Much later, after coming to Arlathan's court, Solas had seen the man, resplendent in his armor but ever-scowling. Only Mythal seemed to be able to ease that expression. His affection for her must have been vast, but it hadn't stopped him from banding together with the other Evanuris, particularly Falon'Din, and killing Mythal for harboring Solas' armies and keeping his secrets.

"Good to know," Varric said, chuckling as the quill scratched some more. Slowly, as if in time with the quill, he repeated, "Note to self: Never. Piss. Off. Elven. God."

 _Too late for me on that account,_ Solas thought but kept his expression deadpan as he continued eating. He'd angered and offended and challenged all eight other Evanuris, including Mythal on more than one occasion. Idly, he considered how entertaining it'd be to tell Varric what a thrill it was to humiliate men and women who styled themselves gods. _Why yes, you have not lived, Master Tethras, until you have publicly refused an invitation from Andruil and Ghilan'nain. Or bested Dirthamen in a game of wits and watched with glee as the tales of his resulting temper tantrum spread far and wide._

"Sounds about right," Tal said with an approving nod before launching into the rest of his story: "Elgar'nan slew the nobleman and ruined the city, killing everyone within it. This allowed Mythal to escape her place of imprisonment and as Elgar'nan raged, intent on destroying every last elf living belowground, the All-Mother embraced him and urged mercy. She said that the nobleman and his people and his city had already paid the punishment needed. The others living belowground would know better than to repeat the same mistakes.

"But Elgar'nan's pride had been wounded at the insult to his beloved wife, and he would not be pacified. So, to save the remaining elves, Mythal cast a powerful magic upon them. She made them small and stocky, so they could hide in cracks far too small and deep for Elgar'nan to reach. She sundered them forever from the Fade, to protect them from Elgar'nan's wrath even in dreams, so that he could never find them. In her great wisdom, she knew also that these new creatures would need a way to guide themselves in that vast darkness without sun or moon or stars. So Mythal gave them an innate ability to know the stone, to craft and shape it, much the way sleepers navigate and shape the Fade."

"And so it was Mythal created the first dwarves, or, as we call your kind, durgen'len. Children of the Stone," Rosa said.

"Well," Varric said as he set the quill down. "Seems as good an explanation as anything." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and kicked his feet up on the table, taking advantage of the fact that his seat and the table were both too large for him. "But your All-Mother must have missed me on the Stone sense bit." He chuckled. "I'm just as lost and confused as any of you would be underground."

Solas said nothing, though he doubted Varric was being truthful. The handful of dwarves Solas had encountered in Elvhenan were always expert navigators belowground and seemed to see every rock as unique, knowing its qualities, strengths, and faults at a mere glance. Then again, perhaps the dwarves had diminished in this miserable post-Veil world just as the elves had. He wanted to ask, but couldn't find a way to do so without revealing he was a Dreamer—too dangerous a revelation in the Circle tower.

"So," Rosa said, dragging out the single word as she scraped her fork along the leftover brown sauce of her stew. "Varric. Do you know how long you and the Seeker will be hanging around our tower?"

"Looking to get rid of me, Violet?" Varric asked, arching one bushy eyebrow. He clucked his tongue. "And here I thought we were starting to bond."

"I like you," Tal rejoined with a playful leer.

"See?" Varric said, motioning at Tal. "I can't be half bad if your clansman is flirting with me."

Solas resisted the desire to roll his eyes, knowing full-well the underlying reason Rosa would ask about Varric and the Seeker. She hoped that the Seeker would leave soon and end the investigation into Curtis' death. Of course, Solas worried what would happen when the Seeker _did_ leave. Would the Knight-Commander simply pile the blame on the three of them, even with little or no evidence that Curtis' death was their fault? Though the Seeker had seemed swayed by Rosa's story of abuse at Curtis' hands, it was also an obvious motive for murder. Better to have professed ignorance and dispassion, but Rosa was clearly not one to shy away from truths like that—not when they had a connection with her fears.

"It's not that," Rosa said with a shake of her head and a lopsided smile. Her gaze slid to Tal, silently asking for aid.

With a slight nod, Tal said, "We're just curious, Varric. The Seeker has the tower on edge. We're just wondering when things will go back to normal—even if we're dreading it because it means you leave."

"Okay, okay," Varric said with a sigh, smirking as he changed position, dropping his booted feet back to the floor. "Honestly? I haven't a clue. The Seeker told me Hasmal was just a quick stop. She's looking for the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden and apparently she heard a rumor that Hawke passed through here. That should've been dealt with by now, so I can't even guess what's keeping her at this point."

He shrugged his beefy shoulders and grabbed his flask from his tray, palming it as if considering taking a long swig. His gaze stayed glued to his food tray, glazing over in the beat of silence before he blinked and looked between the three of them, skipping over Solas because he'd said little and feigned only mild interest. "My guess is she's run into a distraction or something along those lines. If something popped up here related to the shit that went down in Kirkwall you can be sure she'd be on it like darkspawn on an Old God."

Solas frowned at that. Could the Seeker have taken upon herself the duty of investigating Ser Curtis' death because she felt it was somehow related to the simmering tension between mages and Templars? _Fenedhis…_

Before any of them could remark on Varric's comments regarding the Seeker, a mage appeared in the dining hall entrance and clapped her hands loudly, shouting for the apprentices to file out and return to their usual duties. As usual, Varric let out a long sigh of satisfaction and propped his feet up again, smiling smugly at the three of them. "That's the cue for my afternoon nap. See you folks at dinner."

"Looking forward to it, Varric," Tal said with a bright smile.

As Solas rose to his feet, shuffling out with everyone else, Rosa nimbly hurdled her way over the long tables, managing to only clatter a few trays in the action. Solas halted, staring at her with mild disapproval even as his lips twitched up in a small smile. How he envied the ease and grace of her strong, lithe body. Envied and…appreciated it.

Heat leapt into his cheeks at that thought. To hide it he scowled, feigning greater irritation with her than he felt as she squeezed into the narrow aisle beside him between one long table and the next. "Was that truly necessary, lethallan?" he asked her grumpily.

She extended her arm out to him. "Yes," she answered. "Because otherwise Tal would beat me to it." As they started walking again the hall filled with the rustle of the apprentices' robes and slipper-clad feet as well as the quiet hush of their conversations. With a playful gleam in her violet eyes, Rosa said, "Surely you've noticed how hard he's been trying to seduce you, flat-ear."

Solas let out a longsuffering sigh as he accepted her arm. "How unfortunate for him then that I am immune to all his boyish charms." Gripping her tighter, Solas pressed close to speak quietly into her ear. "What of Rogathe?"

When she twisted her head around quickly, Solas found himself near enough that he could feel her breath pluming over his cheeks, smell the lingering scent of her meal on her lips. It should have been less than appealing, yet somehow it flooded Solas' mouth with saliva and sent his heart racing, stomach clenching.

"Gone," she said, the coy smile spreading over her lips. Solas' eyes locked on those lips with longing. He felt Rosa's amusement as a sort of warm-tension in the air around them—not unlike magic—and recognized it as the spark of connection, of attraction. He'd thought such interpersonal, passive magic impossible with the Veil present, but as with so many things since waking he realized he was wrong. Perhaps it was only that Rosa was a fellow mage and Dreamer, and had recent Elvhen ancestors that he could feel such a powerful desire? Or maybe it was simply his own body, betraying him and misleading his mind in this quickened world—

"Are you still puttering about in the library?" she asked, edging backward slightly to direct her words more into his ear. Her hot breath caressed the skin of his jaw, ear, neck, and part of his scalp. He swallowed, desperate to quash that obnoxious flutter of zinging want rising inside. He was no overeager youth, newly blossomed to sexual urges. He could control himself. _Would_ control himself.

"I am," he answered, pleased with the evenness of his voice and not bothering to correct her that he'd moved onto sweeping the floors. "But I'd advise you not to seek me out."

"Oh?" she asked, lighthearted and innocent.

They'd reached the exit, shuffling forward in the long line of older apprentices and rounding the corner out into the hallway. Two Templars stood watch, stoic and solemn as statues, but Solas could feel their eyes roving over the apprentices, silent and watchful. He made an effort to shamble, walking with a noticeably unsteady gait to ensure the Templars couldn't doubt his reason for walking so close to Rosa, clinging to her for support. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Tal had fallen back, walking with two other elven apprentices, both several years younger.

As soon as they were safely past the watching Templars, deeper into the hallway, Solas pressed closer to Rosa again to speak quickly into her ear, his voice low. "After what you've done you should know how foolish it would be for you draw further attention to yourself with disobedience."

Her head whipped in his direction, eyebrows arching and mouth falling open a second before snapping shut again. Under her breath, she hissed, "And what have I done, exactly, Revas?"

Solas frowned at her, lips pinching into a hard line and his jaw clenching. They'd reached a stairwell, the gentle whisk and rustle of the apprentices' feet still echoing through the hall along with muffled, indistinct conversations. It was unlikely anyone would overhear anything Solas said as long as he spoke quietly enough, but he couldn't take that risk. Licking his lips, he remained vague and cagey. "You faced your fear."

She tilted her head, smiling at him tightly. "I don't understand what you're trying to imply."

They started up the stairs together, Rosa gripping the bannister while Solas held onto her arm, using it as a railing. He swayed only slightly, his balance much recovered though his muscles kept up their continuous ache. That pain only seemed to increase with the hot flash of irritation that laced through him at her words. _She is baiting me,_ he realized.

And she didn't trust him, at least not completely. If she had, she would have told him what she planned to do regarding Curtis, and she wouldn't be coy about it now.

But he had no one but himself to blame for that. _He_ hadn't trusted her with the truth— _couldn't_ trust her with it. Turnabout was fair play, as the common phrase went.

An impasse, then.

Shoulders deflating as he sighed, Solas finally answered her with: "Nothing, lethallan."

Rosa clucked her tongue as they reached the top of the staircase where the hallway divided. Here their paths parted, with Rosa heading down one hallway and Solas moving to the library in a different direction. "Well, in that case, I shall see you tonight," she said and stepped away from him, separating.

Solas nodded in her direction. _"Dareth shiral_."

She winked at him as she strode away. Solas lingered longer than he needed to, watching the sway of her hips and feeling an itchy sensation in his fingers, longing to touch her. Then, when he noticed Tal and the two elves accompanying him glance in his direction, he pivoted and walked in as steady and dignified of a pace as he could manage. Yet, he hadn't turned away quick enough to miss the way Tal smirked knowingly at him.

Pushing the image of the youth's smirk out of his mind to avoid the rush of heat from embarrassment at how easy he was to read, apparently, Solas returned to his duties. The thought that Rosa might sneak away to visit him kept popping back into Solas' mind, making him tense at every little sound in the library as patrons came and went. His heart was constantly hammering at his throat, his skin slick with sweat beneath his robes. It didn't help that the sweeping made his muscles twitch and ache, burning from exertion.

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed as he wiped at the sweat accumulating at on his brow. He _really_ needed that bath tonight.

Through the nervous tension and physical pain plaguing him, Solas noticed the number of Templars doing sweeps through the area had increased. The library had been a dull place the previous day, but now it seemed as though the Templars had designated it a hot spot of mage activity and scoped it out as such. Every fifteen minutes or so a Templar made a pass through the first floor and then ascended the stairwell to check in on the classrooms there. The men all appeared tense and glared at Solas with suspicion and barely concealed contempt.

By the time the mage who'd assigned his chores arrived to summon him for dinnertime, Solas had counted ten Templar passes through the library. He was relieved to be finished for the day as his arms and some muscles along his sides and back throbbed from overuse due to the sweeping. The mage escorting him lent him her arm in sympathy and kept her pace slow. Solas decided to question her about the increase in Templar patrols, to see if she had noted the same thing.

"I have," she replied with a nod, her expression pinched. "Rumor is there was a death in their ranks last night." She paused, shooting him a sidelong look. "An _unexplained_ death. And, naturally, they suspect us. Because of course they do." The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.

"Our talents frighten them," Solas agreed evenly. "They fear what they do not understand."

The woman stared at him, her eyes bright now. "You just came in a few weeks ago, right?" she asked and at his nod, she pressed on. "What was it like out there? I haven't left the tower since I was ten and my magic came in."

Judging by her youthful skin and the lack of gray in her hair, Solas guessed this woman was about thirty. He smiled at her politely. "What would you like to know?" For the remainder of their walk to the dining hall he regaled her with as many tales from beyond the Circle as he could believably claim to have knowledge of. He told her of villagers growing their crops, raising their children in peace. Of merchants crossing the Waking Sea to sell their wares. Of lovers in small towns, fiery and passionate, brave enough to fight and die for each other when the Blight swept through. Of lying beneath the open sky and watching the stars roll by overhead.

He purposefully left out the darker aspects: bandits lurking on the major roads, hungry bears roaming the hills, elves starving in alienages, and corrupt nobles getting innocent citizens killed in pointless land squabbles. It was a deliberate oversight, feeding her only pleasant things to inspire her with a desire to escape. To see the wondrous world beyond the tower with her own eyes. The glimmer of awe and wonder in her eyes told him he'd succeeded.

By the time he sat at his usual spot beside Tal, he must've worn a smug expression with his triumph because Rosa immediately commented, "Well, you look like the halla that got into the good grains." She grinned at him as she stabbed at the gravy-smothered slice of chicken on her plate. "Spill, flat-ear."

He wasn't about to admit to stirring discord in the tower aloud, so Solas merely smiled at her as he gripped his own silverware and changed the subject. "I suspect this will disappoint you, lethallan, but I was only contemplating the latest chapter I read in Master Tethras' book, _Hard In Hightown._ "

"Oh yeah?" Varric asked, grinning. "What chapter was it?"

Solas supplied an answer quickly, choosing a section that he remembered as being amusing. His reward was seeing Varric's brown eyes crinkle with real enjoyment at hearing the praise. After a time discussing the novel with the three of them the dwarf seemed to finally shake himself and switch topics as he leaned closer to the table as much as his short body would allow and said, "By the way, I chatted up some of the Templars over the last few hours and heard some interesting gossip."

"Is that so?" Tal asked, arching an eyebrow.

Varric wriggled in his chair, smirking with amusement as he settled in to repeat the rumors. He also dug into his coat, producing the now-familiar silver flask of hard liquor. It seemed that, aside from storytelling and gambling or gaming, drinking was Varric's favorite pastime. Not that Solas could judge him particularly harshly for that, considering his own affection for wine…

…Though Solas always imbibed _very_ carefully, post-Veil. Wine did tend to loosen tongues and inhibitions, two things he could not afford to risk in his present situation.

He sipped from his glass, enjoying the sweet, fruity flavor even if it was awful compared to Elvhenan's lowest, cheapest fare. The delicious, soft burn of it warmed his stomach even as Varric's words made his blood run icy a few moments later.

"Turns out a Templar died under some weird circumstances last night," the dwarf said with a grunt, watching their expressions. All three elves feigned surprise in varying intensities: Tal gawked while Rosa's brow hitched up and Solas widened his eyes. "Anyway," Varric went on. "Turns out the guy was from the Kirkwall Circle. He transferred here about three years ago, two years before everything went to shit."

 _Fenedhis,_ Solas thought, meeting Rosa's gaze from across the table. One corner of her mouth quirked up in a nervous tic and then she snatched her glass, sipping her own wine. This news explained the Seeker's interest in it. It was a coincidence only, but it was natural for the Seeker to see a larger pattern in it.

"What were the _weird_ _circumstances?"_ Tal asked.

"The guys I talked to said the poor sod died in his sleep. No one saw anything unusual at all." Varric shook his head and let out a long sigh, his gaze falling to the table between them, his brows knitting. "My guess—and theirs, I'd bet—is that it's blood magic." He finished unscrewing his flask's cap and took a long swill, tossing his head back. When he'd swallowed again he scowled. "Damn blood magic. Every Maker-damned time."

"Can blood magic do that?" Rosa asked. Solas speared more chicken with his fork and ate it while still watching Varric, Rosa, and Tal. He kept himself from looking overmuch at Rosa, certain that he could give something away if he wasn't careful. He wondered if Rosa's question was genuine curiosity or something more along the lines of gloating over the fact their captors were bewildered at Curtis' death. He hoped it was the former and not the latter.

"I don't know," Varric said, shrugging. "Probably? Seems to me blood magic can do anything, mostly bad."

"It's probably not blood magic at all," Tal said. "More like poison."

"I imagine they'll look into that," Varric said, taking another swig from his flask. "But after Kirkwall and with the dead guy's connection to the Circle there, you know they _have_ to investigate the blood magic angle first."

"I suppose that's sensible," Solas put in with a nod.

"But what's more likely to happen is they'll just pick a scapegoat and kill that person, regardless of the truth," Rosa grumbled. "Even if the truth is something stupid like this Templar had a weak heart and just died in his sleep."

Varric grunted, scowling as he shook his head. "Can't disagree with you there, Violet. I've seen one too many Templars jump to conclusions like that and the mages are always the ones suffering for it."

"But the Seeker's different," Tal said, pressing forward as a note of urgency entered his voice. "She's not like the other Templars. She cares about the _truth._ She has to. It's part of her name."

Varric laughed, shoulders shaking. Rosa eyed her brother with an unreadable expression, somewhere between amusement and…irritation? Solas, meanwhile, remained as deadpan as he could manage, drinking again from his wine.

When Varric had recovered from laughing, he said, "Your naivety, Stoic, is absolutely charming, but it's just not true. Take me for instance. I've been called a nug-humper so many times in the merchant's guild that it might as well be my middle name. Varric Nug-Humper Tethras. But, name or not, I've never humped a nug. Not once." He cringed with revulsion and then laughed again. "Same's true for the Seeker. She'll _seek_ all right, but she's as flawed as anyone else and might never find it. Trust me on this. She stabbed me right in the book, just to make a point."

"Stabbed you in the book?" Tal asked, sounding sullen.

Varric waved a hand at him, dismissively. "Yeah, not going to get into that right now. Point is….eh…" He scratched at his chin, making a dry scraping sound. "Ah, forget it, Stoic. Keep thinking the best of her, I guess. Not like she's going to blame any of you…er…" He broke off, frowning. "Shit."

"What?" Rosa asked, eyeing him warily, as if he might be a wasp that'd sting her.

Solas wondered if her intuition might prove correct as a moment later Varric winced as he explained quietly, "I…may have known a Dalish blood mage. So, the Seeker's going to associate…uh…"

" _Fenedhis_ ," Tal said, gulping as he looked at Rosa, then back at Varric again. "Truly? You knew a Dalish blood mage? It wasn't something we did in my clan."

Solas covertly glanced at Rosa, trying to read her reaction and seeing nothing. Her silence at Tal's comment, however, made him wonder if clan Naseral didn't have much of a stigma against blood magic, just as it wasn't afraid of spirits.

"Yes," Varric said, grimacing. "I definitely knew one all right." He covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. "Dammit, Daisy."

Eager to calm Tal, Solas said, "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Clearly, we are not involved. Nefarious use of magic is not restricted to any race or nationality, a fact we know the Templars will not forget any time soon."

Varric snorted dryly. "Well said, Chuckles." He blew out a breath and shook his flask, revealing by the musical tinkling noise how little liquid remained. "Damn. Running low on the whiskey. Again."

"A travesty," Solas lamented with a friendly smile as he raised his wine for another small sip.

Varric sighed. "You don't know the half of it. I have another nasty bit of gossip, actually." Leaning close again, he said, "A few days back a mage from the White Spire tried to kill the Divine. With _blood magic._ The Seeker is pissed."

 _Well,_ Solas thought, _that rumor's been confirmed…_

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Blushing, Tal stammered a moment before recovering. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, Shila was everyone's favorite. She was beautiful and gifted at anything she tried, while I was clumsy and awkward and our Keeper wouldn't train me as Second. Ever. Anyway, she used to take pity on me and share some of the knowledge our Keeper taught her, even though it made her uncle furious. Then, one night after a bonding ceremony when everyone was drunk off Orlesian wine, Shila asked me to sneak off with her into the woods. She told me she was going to give me another lesson in magic." He broke off, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Turned out it wasn't _that_ type of magic. And _that_ was my first time."

Rosa snorted. "Maybe your first time with a woman."

Solas clamped his mouth shut and pretended to ignore that comment. A few times he had enjoyed male company over the years, but he far preferred female partners. Or spirits, truth be told. Now _that_ would be something to tell them in this game. _Once, I joined half a dozen nuvenathe—you would call them desire demons—for a weeklong tryst involving endless sex and magic._

* * *

Author's note: I have always thought the codex entries you find about dwarves fearing the surface because of Elgar'nan's fire was fascinating. Yet we don't have a myth for it. So I made one in this chapter. Because we don't have any other humanoid species on Earth anymore we don't have any creation myths for other races, so it's fun to explore. 


	11. Big Liar: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Imshael," Felassan said. He sounded impressed.
> 
> "Hello, Slow Arrow." The demon smiled. "It's been some time. How've you been?"—Felassan to Imshael (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas and Rosa continue their plotting regarding dissent in the tower and taking back the orb. Rosa cuts a deal with Solas, asking him for help convincing Tal to stop being an overachiever in his classes. The trio of elven mages plays a drinking game with Varric.

The roaring sigh of water moving in waves crashed on Solas' ears. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing in knee-high water that sucked at his ankles. The shore was made of rounded stones, pebbly and worn smooth by the constant action of waves over them. The sky was overcast and clouded. Drizzle and sea spray whipped over him with the wind. It was bitingly cold, promising a harsh, icy winter. The water, in contrast, was merely chilled.

Stumbling out of it, Solas scowled with confusion as he tried to discern whether this was his dream or someone else's. Hills rose sharply behind him, dotted with bushes that'd lost their leaves, along with tall pines. The hills cut off in cliffs, revealing rain-slicked rocks, raw and exposed to the elements. The scene was unfamiliar to him, but the Fade was more than capable of crafting a new scene as a sort of amalgamation of all the landscapes he'd seen over his long life. Yet, there was no sign of Fade ether and the sky held no trace of the brilliant, fractal colors that'd been a constant in Elvhenan. That suggested this was a dream inspired by post-Veil Thedas.

He sensed another Dreamer a fraction of a second before Rosa's voice called out from atop the steep hill behind him. "Revas!"

Pivoting in that direction, Solas saw Rosa striding down the hill toward him. As per her usual, she wore her Dalish Keeper armor, despite the fact that in the real world it'd long since been destroyed. Rather than let his gaze linger on her form with appreciation the way he wanted to, Solas made himself look down as he picked his way out of the surf.

The dream had rendered him in his apprentice robes and now they were sopping from the waves. Solas started to shiver in earnest from the bitter wind and his drenched state. Concentrating inward, Solas willed the chill and moisture away. This was a dream, after all. There was no reason for him to be cold and wet. The effort of changing his image in the dream made his head swim and his body break out in a cold sweat. He was still breathing a touch too fast as Rosa reached him.

Her eyes swept over him with approval, a smile curling over her mouth. "Good job," she praised and he noted that she appeared dry despite the drizzle so she had done similarly. "Is it getting easier?" she asked.

Torn between feeling irritated at her praise for something so trivial and being friendly because he knew she was genuine and not patronizing him, Solas merely nodded. His cheeks felt too hot, however, so he suspected he'd be flushed. _Too much pride,_ he scolded himself and tried to push it aside. Rosa was not trying to mock him.

"All right," she said, clapping her hands together as she started walking along the shoreline. "Now that we can finally talk in true privacy—I'm guessing you want to know about what the Knight-Commander and the Seeker are thinking regarding the foci." With her shoulders square and her back straight, she watched him with that confounding coy smile, waiting for him to follow her or to speak—possibly both.

Solas decided on doing both as he started walking just a step behind her, the smooth rocks clattering and shifting with each step. "You would be correct, lethallan. What have you found?"

"Neither the Seeker nor the Knight-Commander have any interest in the foci," she said, confident and assured, the coy smile over her lips. "They think it's too dangerous to tamper with, magic or no. I took the liberty of reinforcing that idea in their dreams, so I think you have nothing to worry about, but I'll keep tabs on them anyway." She paused, the coy smile widening. "Also, I know where they've stored the foci and where they keep the key to its storage room."

Solas nodded, smiling at her even as his chest tightened with apprehension. She'd considered this, planned it along much farther than he'd asked her to. That kind of forethought could suggest she planned to make a move for the orb herself. "Very good," he praised and then decided to take a risk. Licking his lips, he said, "Show me."

Now Rosa cocked her head, eyes narrowing though the smile remained in place. "So impatient, flat-ear." She arched her eyebrow at him. "What's the rush?"

"There isn't one," Solas hedged, unable to keep himself from frowning. "I was merely…curious."

She crossed her arms over her chest and clucked her tongue. "C'mon now, Revas. After all this you still don't trust me?"

Heat leapt into his face, scalding all the way to his ear tips. Solas averted his gaze, scowling. "Perhaps I do not. You did, after all, refuse to trust me with the truth of how you planned to coax yourself into finally releasing Rogathe. By killing Ser Curtis you've placed all of the mages in this tower—but the three of us especially—in danger."

"I didn't kill him," she protested, grimacing. At his disbelieving stare, Rosa added, "How could I have killed him, Revas? I never left my bunk." She shook her head, lips curling with anger and stammered out, "How could you think _I_ did it? Put us in danger like that and—"

"Are you quite finished with this charade, _da'len?"_ Solas asked as he stared at her, flat and cold. She fidgeted and averted her gaze, looking out at the water. After a long beat of silence, during which only the roar of the waves sighed between them, he cleared his throat and said, "You do not truly expect me to believe Ser Curtis died in his sleep. Your fear of him was what kept Rogathe inside you, so you killed him."

"I never laid a hand on that Templar bastard," Rosa said, glaring at him. "How could I have killed him? What, in my sleep?" She cocked her head. "Is that what you're saying?"

Solas was about to open his mouth to lay out the case—which was pathetically obvious to him—but he froze as realization dawned. This was a trap. She wanted him to reveal that he knew she'd killed Curtis via the Fade, specifically. The secrets of Dreamers should have been lost in this age, virtually extinct as they were. Solas had been so fixated on puzzling out how and what _Rosa_ knew about her own heritage that he'd forgotten she must be doing the same with _him._ And the moment he explicitly revealed what he knew she would have another arrow in her quiver to use to poke holes in his cover story. He couldn't allow that.

"…perhaps I was mistaken," he murmured, demure and evasive as he quickly recovered, thinking aloud. "Surely you would not kill an unarmed man, asleep in his bed in cold blood. Rogathe would never approve of such." _Except that is not how it happened, is it?_ He thought. _You sought Ser Curtis out in a dream and fought him in a fair fight._

Rosa shook her head, lips drawn back in a snarl of disgust. "No, not at all. Rogathe would spit at my feet and call me a coward if I did something like that." The way she held her hands in front of her, fidgeting anxiously, told Solas she was troubled. Seeing his eyes on her, Rosa tucked her hands behind her back and scowled at him. "I…I don't know what happened, but I didn't kill him."

_But you did,_ Solas thought, _though perhaps not intentionally._

"Very well," he said, deciding it was best for the both of them to drop this subject and pretend it hadn't happened. That way Solas wouldn't reveal that he knew such lost, deadly arts and Rosa wouldn't expose what she'd done as she seemed determined to deny it out of shame or regret.

"Well," Rosa said, spinning around to face away from him. The rocks clattered under her foot, the sound musical. "Now that you're done accusing me of killing unarmed men in their sleep, I'll leave you to the miserable coastland." With a wave of one hand at the roaring sea, she indicated the dreamscape with its constant hazy drizzle and pounding waves.

"Rosa," Solas interjected, scrambling forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "Please, will you show me where the foci is being kept and how to reach it?"

Rosa halted at his touch and as the wind whipped at the few loose strands of her hair Solas caught the scent of soap from her bath and shampoo from her coiffed hair in its intricate braids and knots. Longing coiled inside his stomach as heat bloomed and threatened to sink lower. He wanted to curse with frustration at it. His traitorous body _should_ have been satisfied when he took a few moments in the bath that evening to…relieve that particular physical need. But apparently not, as those desires kept popping into his mind when he was close to her.

The Dalish woman turned slightly to stare obliquely at him, her violet eyes sharp with her keen intelligence. Her pale vallaslin stood out in stark contrast against her olive skin tone. Before he could stop himself, Solas found himself imagining how beautiful she'd be without Dirthamen's markings marring her face. He wondered how warm her skin would be against his hand, how satisfying it'd be to indulge in the thrill and danger of pursuing her.

As if she could sense his longing, Rosa's lip twitched up in that confounded coy smile as she said, "I suppose I could be convinced. But there will be a price."

Solas felt his stomach clench with both apprehension and anticipation. "Name it, lethallan."

Rounding to face him properly now, Rosa tucked her hands behind her back in a motion of authority, mimicking the one he often adopted. Whether she deliberately mocked him or not, Solas couldn't be certain, but her eyes narrowed and her voice was stern as she said, "I need you to convince Tal to do poorly in his classes."

Solas stared at her a moment, then frowned. "That is…" He dipped his head slightly, trying to find the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. "…an unusual request."

Lifting a hand, palm out, to the roaring surf, Rosa willed it to quiet. The waters obeyed, frothing and surging as they rubbed over the smooth stones of the beach, but doing so quietly now. Edging closer and keeping her voice low as if she feared being overheard, Rosa explained, "Parahel and the other mages and enchanters have recommended him for the Harrowing."

Solas clenched his jaw. "So soon?"

With a scowl, she shook her head. "No reason for them to wait when Tal excels in everything. He's already older than most of the apprentices who undergo it—same as you and me—but unlike us, Tal's 'mature.'" She used her fingers as air quotations for sarcastic emphasis around the word _mature._ "They induct apprentices when they've reached a certain age and show enough promise and mastery of their talents that the mages think they'll have a chance of surviving that damned stupid ritual."

"And Tal is unreserved in his desire for learning," Solas murmured, nodding with understanding. He recalled clearly the way Tal's face had been bright with joy as he described his classes, saying that his Keeper had not trained him. It made Solas' guts churn with displeasure at the thought of discouraging that joy. Knowledge and its pursuit had been one of his greatest pleasures, pre and post-Veil alike. Seeing that same enjoyment in a youth like Tal filled him with warmth—but he understood Rosa's concern.

"Exactly," Rosa said with a sigh. She rubbed her face with both hands, shoulders slumping. "He's always been like this. Friendly and…" She huffed. "Naïve." Her violet eyes locked with his, fiery with determination. "I don't want them to go through with his Harrowing. I've heard too many horrified apprentices whispering about it."

"You doubt your brother would be able to resist possession?" Solas asked.

"No, that's not it," she said quickly with a sideways slash of her hand. "I'm afraid he'll linger too long and be killed by the Templars. He has vivid dreams and I've taught him a bit about demons and spirits, but his clan was…narrow-minded. Particularly his Keeper. I'm confident he'd pass the ritual, but he might not do it speedily. He's a heavy sleeper, worse than me. He'll get lost, meander, and could forget his purpose. And the Templars are sure to assume the worst and just butcher him."

Her hands curled into fists at her side. "It's not as if they exactly _want_ more mages. Tranquil are more valuable. They do enchantments and work like slaves. What are we mages but a bunch of unruly children to those tyrants?"

Arching his brow, Solas asked, "And you cannot make Tal understand this danger yourself?"

She frowned. "No. He calls me paranoid and doesn't see any reason not to undergo the ritual, especially if it will aid us in plotting the escape."

There was value in having full status within the Circle. After his Harrowing, Tal could gain access to the other mages and earn their trust. He could spread rumors and report back to Rosa and Solas everything he learned. And, as Rosa had noted, Tal seemed particularly suited for such a task. Unlike Solas and Rosa, Tal was gregarious and drew others to him with ease. Yet, even knowing Rosa only a relatively short time, Solas sensed there was something greater underlying this request. A quick survey of the tense set of her shoulders, however, warned Solas not to delay his acceptance or risk prying.

"I cannot promise to completely sway him," Solas cautioned. "But I can try. You will have more power to steer his fate than I, lethallan." Lacking most of his talent with reshaping the Fade, Solas had little chance of influencing the other mages or the Templars of the tower.

She turned her head slightly, letting the wind tug at her hair, whipping her with sea spray. She winced against it. "It's Tal I want to influence, really. I can pull Tal into your dream for you and leave him to talk with you," she said, speaking quietly enough that Solas had to lean closer to make out the words.

Nodding somberly, Solas said, "If that is your wish. Will your brother listen to me if he knows you are the one who asked me to speak with him?"

She chuckled. "He'll _listen._ But will he _hear?"_ She wagged a finger. "That is the question you should be asking, flat-ear."

The phrase she'd used reminded Solas of his friend Felassan. It was the same sort of thing he would have said in this situation— _had_ said actually, when Solas tried to convince some of his own freed slaves turned rebels that he wasn't a god. He smiled softly, half at the memory of his friend and half for Rosa and her predicament. "Then I can promise to speak to him, but I cannot promise he will _hear_ what I have to say. Is that fair enough?"

She shrugged. "As good as. Wouldn't be right for me to expect you to work miracles. You're not Mythal or Sylaise—or Dirthamen." She gestured to her own vallaslin at the last name.

Solas clenched his jaw but forced himself to remain silent at that comment, though his stomach seemed to broil with acid. He swallowed it down. Considering Rosa's background and her suspicions regarding him, Solas knew it was in his best interests to hide his revulsion for the false gods. Instead, he aimed for levity with dry humor as he said, " _Ma serannas_ , for that consideration."

"You're welcome," she replied with a smirk. "I'll show you what I know about the foci once you've worked Tal over a bit. Sound good?"

Quashing his disappointment at hearing Rosa intended to make him wait, Solas nodded. "Very well. When do you intend to begin?"

"Tomorrow," she said, her voice clear and confident. Gesturing at the scene around them, she said, "In the meantime, I have a lot of dreams to haunt tonight." Her smile was sly and dark. "A lot of dissention to sow. This tower is ripe with it, just under the surface." Violet eyes glittering, she lifted a hand, palm out, to the waves and Solas felt his skin tingle with the magic of her will as the water went still and the wind died down around them. "Think you'll ever be able to help me?" she asked without looking at him.

Solas swallowed the nervous flood of saliva that filled his mouth, trying to hide his unease. He had to caution her from provoking the tower into upheaval too quickly. "You must tread lightly, lethallan. Allow the dissent to grow slowly, naturally. It will be _real_ then and not easily crushed when the Templars respond with brute force, which they will."

She wrinkled her nose at him as first a smile and then a frown warped her face, making it difficult to read. Then, apparently settling on a genuinely amused toothy smile, she said, "You sound like my…" She broke off, biting her lips as though holding back the words. Then she finished in a different way: "You sound as though you've done this before."

_Fenedhis._ He countered swiftly with a lie. "I have not. But I _have_ seen it in the Fade, in Tevinter ruins. I have also sought out many spirits of wisdom for their guidance on the matter."

"And why would a lonely elven apostate seek out such knowledge?" she asked, flashing that coy smile again.

Solas scoffed, covering the panic fluttering in his gut with derision. "Have you no appreciation of knowledge for its own sake? Have you truly never indulged your curiosity?" Seeing her continued amusement in the twinkle of her violet eyes, Solas decided to alter tactics and distract her with anger. Insulting the Dalish should do it.

"Perhaps the Dalish have no desire to learn of the world beyond their small clans and small minds, but I do. I would see such ancient knowledge reclaimed and used, rather than sit idly by repeating foolish stories and playing like children or simpletons in the mud while the world passes me by."

She arched a brow at him, her jaw clenching slightly before she grinned. "How can you _possibly_ disparage playing in the mud? You mean to tell me you've never wrestled in the mud, all lathered up and downright filthy, surrounded by friends?" Clucking her tongue, she let out a mock-sigh. "Oh, flat-ear, you haven't _lived._ "

So much for rankling her, though he _had_ altered topics. Solas huffed irritably, feeling his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. "Mock if you like," he grumbled. "That does not make my criticism any less accurate."

Yawning into her hand, Rosa made a dismissive motion at him. "Well, Revas, it's been a blast, but I really must be going." Whirling about on her heel in a graceful pirouette that set Solas' frowning with envy knowing she could match that elegance outside of the Fade while he could not, Rosa began striding away. The rocks clattered underfoot and the wind sighed gently. Over her shoulder, Rosa called to him, "See if you can do something about this dreary dream, will you?"

"Indeed," Solas mumbled, sighing as he felt the weighty presence of the other Dreamer vanish from the Fade.

Rubbing at his face, he turned to regard the Waking Sea and focused his mind, reaching out to it with his inner senses. The aching, cold emptiness of his mana core echoed inside him, mocking and bitter for its reminder at how weak he still was—yet he felt the Fade click inside his mind. Grasping at it left him woozy and set a sharp pain in his temple, but he pushed through it, stubbornly.

_Rise and fall in waves as before,_ he commanded it. _Return to normalcy._

The sea began to move, rising in a spray of white bubbles and froth. It hissed and gave a dull roar as it splashed over the rocks, surging up to caress his feet and ankles before falling back. Seeing the Fade had obeyed, Solas released his hold on it and locked his knees to keep himself from falling as the pain battered him. He breathed through it, sucking air through his teeth until it passed.

Returning the Waking Sea to normalcy was a pathetically small accomplishment, yet seeing the waves rising and falling in a steady rhythm warmed him from within with the tiny triumph.

_Soon now_ , he promised himself. Soon he would be able to aid Rosa in fomenting dissent in the tower via the mages' dreams and uncover where the foci had been stored and how to reach it all on his own. Soon he would not need to rely so heavily on the very dangerous and unpredictable Dalish woman.

_Soon._

* * *

The following morning found Solas assigned not to the library as usual, but to a class held only twice a week for beginners in reading and writing. The mage teaching it was a middle-aged elven woman with a soft, gentle voice and seemingly infinite patience as she toured about the classroom adjusting her students' grips on their quills or guiding their hands through the strokes. She taught both common language letters as well as the dwarven trade runes that were often used in small illiterate hamlets.

Most of her students were young, mere children or pubescent tweens. Solas was the sole adult and he felt the children staring at him throughout the duration of the class, curious and baffled at his presence. He studiously ignored them, focusing on improving his penmanship now that he had enough muscle strength to achieve a measure of elegance with the script. The letters were blocky and ugly compared to the flowing pattern of the elven he'd spent his life using, but even after one lesson Solas had improved significantly.

Before the class dismissed for lunch, Marene, the mage teaching the course, stopped him to chat. "I hope you don't mind attending this course," she told him, sounding slightly sheepish.

"No," Solas answered her with a friendly smile. "Of course not. My penmanship is atrocious. I did not learn it properly as a child and had almost no occasion to use it as I wandered the wilds."

"Wandered the wilds," the elven mage echoed, wistful now. She let out a sigh, thick with longing. "I was born in Hasmal, in a slum, but my mum got me out of there when I was young and to a little village outside the city. I remember playing in the woods, hearing the farmer's druffalo lowing." She chuckled. "I used to pick daisies on the hill behind our little hovel."

Solas smiled now with a touch of sadness, pitying this woman for her loss of freedom. "I will miss traveling," he hedged but withheld saying more, unsure just yet how Marene might react.

"I'd bet," she answered, nodding. Then, seeming to shake herself, she changed topics. "I suspect you'll be finished with the penmanship class very quickly. And, after today, I don't think there's any point in making you participate in the reading portions of this class."

Solas dipped his chin in silent agreement. Each student had read passages from a long, boring legal document to prove he or she could read. Solas had managed that portion of the class with exceptional ease, his pleasant, lilting voice making the children and Marene stare at him, looking somewhat enraptured. Solas had been told many times while at Arlathan's court that he possessed a perfect voice—clear, clipped, and musical. It suited an aristocrat—or an Evanuris—far better than it did a wandering, homeless and coinless apostate.

"I've heard from Braden that you lack any magical expression," Marene said suddenly, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Is that still the case?"

Solas hesitated a moment before answering as he reached inward, probing that empty place. He sighed, shoulders slumping, as he felt nothing there, as usual. "I'm afraid that is correct, currently. It is my hope that I will eventually recover my talents."

Marene nodded, though she pressed a finger to her chin, as if with contemplation. "I wonder if you would benefit from joining some of the classes for the youngest apprentices. Most of them have unpredictable magic, very weak. Enchanter Varian teaches that class. They begin very small, with exercises to coax the magic and then control it."

_I know how to control my magic,_ Solas thought and chewed at the edge of one lip to keep from scowling. To remain civil, and with the certainty that Marene didn't intend to slight him, but to _help_ him, Solas said, "I suppose there would be no harm in taking such a course."

Marene grinned. "Excellent. I shall speak to Varian for you."

Solas left the classroom, shoulders hunched and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could feel a nosebleed about to come on. There was no shame in being weak in the arcane in this post-Veil world that so despised magic, yet Solas could not shake the humiliation that rode over him like a jockey whipping at its exhausted mount.

His face felt as though it were aflame every time he pictured himself in a room full of very young apprentices, all brand new to their magic and blundering with it. The penmanship course had been bad enough, but at least Solas knew he actually had some purpose being there as he hadn't written hardly anything in the humans' tongue previously. The thought of enduring the class for the weakest, youngest apprentices made his stomach churn. _He_ had been a teacher once for just such students in Elvhenan. Now, to be unfairly foisted back into the role of student when he was an _Evanuris?!_

Those brooding thoughts kept his mood cloudy through lunch, making the lumpy, cheesy pasta on his tray seem tasteless. Tal and Varric chattered as usual, and Rosa chimed in on occasion—though Solas felt her eyes on him far too often for comfort. Eventually she said, "Why the long face, flat-ear?"

_Flat-ear,_ her voice teased and stabbed at him. She'd meant it playfully, of course, but Solas heard it as a reminder of how broken he was and how wretched this world was. Frowning down at the cheesy mass of noodles he poked at with his fork, Solas rejoined, "Perhaps it has escaped your keen notice, but I have always had a long face."

Rosa blinked at him, then smirked. " _Someone's_ grouchy. All right, Revas, let me try that again." She cleared her throat and laid a hand over her chest as she pitched her voice higher. "Why ever are you such a sourpuss today, _hahren?"_

"Is it the food?" Tal asked, stabbing his noodles with a fork. "I mean, how _dare_ they not use halla milk to make this cheese."

"No," Varric added with a broad grin. "It's the bad wine. Gotta be. I know I'd be crying into my pillow every night if all I had to drink was that shit."

Solas rolled his eyes at them and said nothing, refusing to engage in their antics. He ate another forkful of cheesy noodles and heaved a quick, short sigh as he chewed, struggling to appreciate the rich taste. He'd never eaten this manner of food before. It was Orlesian and seemed entirely too rich. Even the highest nobles of the upper class of Elvhenan would have found it excessive.

"Enough, enough," Rosa said, waving a hand at both Varric and Tal. To Solas, she pointed at him with her fork, like a mother scolding a naughty child. The thought made Solas seethe, his cheeks blooming with heat. "And you, flat-ear, I won't let you ruin lunch."

"I fail to see how my silence ruins anything," Solas grumbled.

"You're ruining it for yourself," Rosa explained, cocking her head to one side. "And I simply cannot allow that. So, it's time we played a game and got you to lighten up."

"No," he growled, pushing more noodles into his mouth. If there was one thing this Orlesian meal could do, it was put meat back on his bones. Though, Solas had been pleased to see his thighs appeared far less skeletal in his bath the previous night.

"Don't be like that, Revas," Rosa chastised. "You haven't even heard about the game yet and you're already judging it. Aren't you the one who's always going on about how small-minded we Dalish are?" With a wave of her hand she indicated Tal sitting beside him in her description as well. "This is your chance to prove to us how clever and knowledgeable you are."

Solas sighed, giving in. "Very well. What game did you have in mind?"

"It's called Big Liar. We used to play it while drinking but…" She shrugged as she motioned to the glass of water on her tray. They wouldn't have wine until evening. "Anyway, the rules are simple. Each person tells two stories. One is true. The other is a lie. Everyone else has to guess the true story. When people guess incorrectly, the speaker gets a prize. If everyone guesses correctly, the speaker gets punished."

"And it doesn't have to be a story, necessarily," Tal added. "At least that was how my clan played it. You _can_ say obscure facts—or lies—instead of a story."

"So, you're saying I can tell you the sky is blue or nugs taste like chicken and that counts?" Varric asked, arching a fuzzy eyebrow.

"Exactly," Tal agreed with a bright smile. "That is, as long as Rosa and everyone else agrees."

"I'm fine with it," Rosa said, shrugging before her expression and voice twisted with mischief. "But this game is _always_ better if the stories are personal." She set her fork down with a metallic clatter on her tray and met Solas' eye. "You game for this?"

"If I must, da'len," he said.

"You must," Rosa said, smirking.

In spite of himself and his sullen mood, Solas smiled. Offering obscure facts was something that'd interest him. But, there was one matter to address first. Clearing his throat, he spoke in elven. _"You will have an unfair advantage with Tal as siblings."_

Rosa snorted and Tal flashed a lopsided smile. Varric was the one to speak. "Eh, didn't catch that one, Chuckles."

"He just volunteered to go first," Rosa said before Solas could react. He frowned at her with disapproval and the Dalish woman winked at him, replying to him in elven, _"_ Isamalin _and I will play honest and fair. There's plenty we don't know about each other."_ Breaking off, she shot Tal a playful look. "Isn't that right, Tal?"

"Yes, yes it is," he said in a mock-solemn voice, as though taking a very solemn vow.

"Enough chatter," Varric scolded with a mild frown. "Let's start. Revas?"

Pinching his lips tightly together, Solas considered what he'd tell them. Hundreds of obscure facts circled about his mind, but most of them were related to Elvhenan or the Fade—subjects that his audience, particularly Rosa, could question just how he'd come to know such things. To stall for time, he asked, "We did not discuss punishments or prizes."

"Normally it's booze," Rosa answered with a shrug. "But since we're short on that, how about food?"

"Or favors," Tal suggested, winking in Solas' direction.

There'd been a time, long before he was the Dread Wolf, that Solas had been thrilled to engage in high stakes betting. Nobles traded slaves, sexual favors, magic, spells, exotic food, secrets, and countless other treasures in games of wits. Solas had grown quite adept at winning in such events, and had used it at first for his own selfish enjoyment—though he never accepted slaves and if he _did_ win them, he promptly freed them.

His heart picked up its pace just at the thought, remembering that he'd more than once won sexual favors in such games, but he smothered the idea now. He'd long ago grown tired of the frivolous opulence of Arlathan's court, rife as it was with casual cruelty to those of the lower classes. As such, he'd sworn off gambling, refusing to be a part of it. But now he was not an upper class noble at court, seeking conquest and the thrill of victory. Now he was just Revas, lowly and weak, passing the time in camaraderie.

Still…he had to be cautious. Because he was _not_ just Revas. He wasn't even just Solas.

"Very well," he hedged, not bothering to hide his wariness. "But I must know what is at stake beforehand."

"If you win by tricking us you get to pick off the losers' plates," Tal suggested. "Whatever you want. No holds barred. And if we win—meaning _all_ of us guess right—we get to take whatever we want from your tray. Sound fair?"

"Hold on a minute," Varric said, chuckling as he screwed on the cap to his whiskey flask and tucked it back into his coat. "There we go."

"Damn," Tal said, laughing at the dwarf. "That was just what I wanted from your tray!"

"Exactly," Varric said, chuckling. He wagged a finger at Tal. "I'm onto you, Stoic."

"Okay, okay," Rosa said with a wave of both hands, impatient to begin. "Go already, Revas."

"There are extensive elven ruins beneath Hasmal," Solas said quickly, dropping his volume until his audience leaned closer to hear him better. "That is my first story. The second is that all high dragons are—"

"Oh, c'mon," Rosa interrupted him, huffing. "This isn't any fun if you don't tell personal stories."

"Let him play the way he wants," Tal reprimanded.

"Thank you," Solas said with an appreciative nod. He shot Rosa a little glare before he finished. "All high dragons are female."

Varric sighed and rubbed one hand over the stubble over his chin. "I have to agree with Violet now. Chuckles—how about I show you how it's supposed to be done and we'll come back to you."

Solas frowned, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "Very well then, Master Tethras. Impress me."

"All right," Varric said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "First story. I have a crossbow named Bianca. She's not just _any_ crossbow, either. She's a _repeating_ crossbow. Lets me fire continuously. I found her in a wreck off the coast around Kirkwall, in a crate that was enchanted so it wouldn't sink even though it was heavier than a herd of brontos. Knew she was a one of a kind from the moment I laid eyes on her." He sighed, as if with contentment or longing.

"A _repeating_ crossbow?" Tal asked, arching his brow. "I can't help but notice you don't have it right now."

"It's not as if the Templars would let me carry her in here," Varric said.

"Hush, Tal," Rosa said. "It's time for the second story."

Nodding to her, Varric said, "A while back, the Champion—Hawke, that is—was low on coin. So, he went to my bastard brother, Bartrand, looking to join his expedition into the Deep Roads. This was back around the end of the Blight, when we knew the Deep Roads would be relatively empty of Darkspawn. Bartrand, being the nug-licker he was, turned him down flat and sent him packing. See, thing is, Bartrand ran our business on the _outside_ , but it was _me_ who actually did everything. Anyway, so I was waiting outside and when I saw Hawke, I could guess what'd happened. I was going to go up to him, introduce myself, but about then some pickpocket decided to step in and rob Hawke. I saw it was my moment of opportunity and shot that bastard clean through the shoulder so Hawke could reclaim what'd been stolen." With a grin, he leaned back in his seat, kicking up his feet. "And that was how I met the Champion of Kirkwall."

Solas suspected there was more to that tale, but Varric either didn't wish to go into it or he was lying. The smug look on the dwarf's face suggested that he was proud of his tales and confident none of the elves would see through him. Solas kept his mouth shut, weighing the stories in his mind with what he knew of the dwarf so far.

"Classic trick," Tal said, humming as he stared Varric down. "You fake us out by telling one story that has elements of truth but a few falsehoods while the other is all true. It's a bait and switch."

Varric grinned. "That so, Stoic? You gonna call me on my bullshit?"

"The crossbow story is the lie," Solas announced, reaching a conclusion. He suspected Tal's read of the dwarf was correct. Varric had likely spun truth into both tales, but embellished one with falsehoods. The crossbow tale seemed the most suspicious in that light.

Rosa nodded. "I agree with Revas. The crossbow story is fake."

"I still think it's a bait and switch," Tal said. "We know about Bartrand and we know about Hawke. Those are all true, but just one lie in there could make the story a fake. It's a trick." Tal grinned, beaming with confidence. "It's the second tale. That's the fake. The crossbow is real."

Now Varric dropped his feet from the table, his eyes flicking between the three elves as his knowing smile spread wider. "Well," he finally said, grinning. "I got Stoic at least."

"What?" Tal asked, his mouth falling open. "Fenedhis. Dread Wolf take me and my stupid brain."

Solas grimaced at the curse but cleared his expression immediately when he saw Rosa's gaze on him, the coy smile in place.

Groaning, Tal pushed his tray toward Varric. "Fair's fair. Take what you want."

Looking smug, Varric snatched Tal's bread roll from the tray and bit into it. His smile remained in place as he chewed. After swallowing he said, "Turns out Stoic's right, but he was wrong about which story I was baiting and switching. I _do_ have a repeating crossbow named Bianca. I just didn't find her on a ship off the coast of Kirkwall." He winked at Tal as the young elf groaned again.

"Loser should get the next round," Rosa suggested, jerking her chin toward her brother. "Go for it, _isamalin."_

Grunting, Tal shifting in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Back in my clan our First was a girl about my age named Shila. Our Keeper was her uncle—a real prick. He hated my guts because he wanted to bond with my mother, but my father was such a funny, suave—"

Rosa interrupted him sharply, "Stay on topic, _isamalin."_

Blushing, Tal stammered a moment before recovering. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, Shila was everyone's favorite. She was beautiful and gifted at anything she tried, while I was clumsy and awkward and our Keeper wouldn't train me as Second. Ever. Anyway, she used to take pity on me and share some of the knowledge our Keeper taught her, even though it made her uncle furious. Then, one night after a bonding ceremony when everyone was drunk off Orlesian wine, Shila asked me to sneak off with her into the woods. She told me she was going to give me another lesson in magic." He broke off, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Turned out it wasn't _that_ type of magic. And _that_ was my first time."

Rosa snorted. "Maybe your first time with a woman."

Solas clamped his mouth shut and pretended to ignore that comment. A few times he had enjoyed male company over the years, but he far preferred female partners. Or spirits, truth be told. Now _that_ would be something to tell them in this game. _Once, I joined half a dozen nuvenathe—you would call them desire demons—for a weeklong tryst involving endless sex and magic._

"Quiet, you," Tal told Rosa with a playful frown. "My second story is about my vallaslin. See, my mother devoted herself to Sylaise. Makes perfect sense for her, because she's our clan's hearth keeper and serves as the midwife and she's a fabulous cook. Anyway, once I'd reached adulthood and proved I could provide for the clan as a hunter even if the Keeper would never let me be his apprentice, it was time for my vallaslin. I knew the Keeper would be an ass about it, but what could I do? I performed the ritual fasting and prayer. I agonized over which god I would devote myself to. Mother thought I would choose Sylaise, just as she had. I decided I would choose Sylaise too and when I told the Keeper, he set to work tattooing me. But I soon realized it wasn't Sylaise's mark he was putting on my skin."

Rosa covered her mouth with her hand. "That son of a bitch."

Solas didn't miss the genuine anger clouding Tal's eyes as he went on. "We are not allowed to speak during the process," he explained to both Solas and Varric. "But when it was finished and I looked in the mirror, I saw that he had placed Mythal's mark on me instead." He brushed a hand over his face to indicate the tattoos, which were indeed Mythal's. "I asked him why and the Keeper spit in my face and told me I couldn't wear the same vallaslin as my mother. So, he had given me the same markings my father wore." He shrugged. "I didn't mind too much after a while. Mythal is the All-Mother, after all. It's a great vallaslin."

"Even if you did not pick it, I agree," Solas said, nodding in respect to the younger man. "It suits you." He bit his tongue to prevent himself from adding something more regarding Mythal.

"Well," Tal said, spreading his palms in a gesture of openness. "I _could_ be lying, remember?"

"Frankly," Varric said with a shake of his head. "I hope you _are_ lying about the second one. Shit. I'm not Dalish, but…wow."

"So, which is the lie?" Tal asked, eyeing the three other people sitting around him. "My first time, or my vallaslin?" Then, with his mouth shaped into an O shape, he jabbed a finger at Rosa and said, "You guess last. You know me too well and I don't want you tipping Revas and Varric off."

"I'd never do something like that to you," Rosa murmured, though her eyes held a glint of amusement. "But I'll hold my guess for last."

"The first story is the lie," Varric said, making his guess. "Too much emotion in that second one to be fake."

Clenching his jaw, Solas watched Tal's face as he smiled at the dwarf, eyes crinkling slightly. There _had_ been true emotion in the second tale, but Solas had seen Tal react convincingly before. It was the youth's earnestness that so often disarmed others around him. Tal possessed an easygoing demeanor that belied the keen intelligence underlying it. Rosa claimed her brother was too trusting and naïve, but Solas wasn't so sure. As with Varric's story, Solas suspected Tal had used tales that carried more than a bit of truth within them in both instances. He also knew both had at least one correct detail: the Keeper's hatred for Tal.

_Odd that his clan's Keeper would despise him,_ Solas thought, brow furrowing with concentration. So many others seemed drawn to Tal's natural, innocent air of charisma. Yet his own Keeper had not been one of them. And, assuming it was the truth, Tal had let slip why that was the case: the Keeper had apparently resented Tal because of some past history with his father.

"Hurry, Revas," Rosa urged him, shifting in her chair to glance for the doorway. "I think they're about to send us back to work."

Making his decision, Solas drew in a breath and said, "The second story is false. I can believe your Keeper was cruel and refused to train you, but I do not believe he would go so far as to deny you your chosen vallaslin."

Tal's eyebrows shot up with surprise and his lips parted slightly. "Well," he said, schooling his expression again. "We'll see. What about you, Rosa?"

"The second story is the lie," she said, smirking. "You can't fool me, Tal."

From the doorway then a mage's voice called to the apprentices, ordering them to return to their classes or afternoon chores. The three elves and Varric remained seated, hunkering closer to the table as chairs scraped over the floor and feet shuffled. The dwarf was the one who asked in his gravelly voice, "So, who's right, Stoic?"

Tal grinned. "Sorry, Varric. They were right. My Keeper was a bastard, but he'd never give me the wrong vallaslin." His smile widened with mischievous glee as he scooted back from the table and rose to his feet. "In fact, _I_ was the one to spite _him._ I chose Mythal to remind him of my father, who he hated so much. It was so hard not to smirk at him while he tattooed me, scowling the whole time."

Varric let out a grunting, dry laugh. "Well played, kid."

"I'll claim my prize from your tray at dinner," Tal promised, still grinning.

* * *

 

Elven Used (all props to FenxShiral's Project Elvhen!)

_Isamalin_ meaning "brother." (More properly: isa'ma'lin but I like to mash the words together)

* * *

 

**Next Chapter**

Clearing her throat, Rosa leaned closer to the table to rest her elbows upon it and spoke in a hushed, melodic voice. "Before I left my clan, I was First to the Keeper. My clan lives in the Brecilian forest, so isolated that we only ever traded with shemlen once a year, and to get to their settlement we had to walk for a week from our usual hunting grounds. One night, in the middle of our journey to the shemlen city, we camped in the midst of some ancient ruins from before the fall of Arlathan. That night, as I slept, I dreamt of two ravens cawing to me from where they perched atop the white stone columns. At first I couldn't understand them, but then I felt their words inside the cawing, like whispers carried through my bones. They called my name," she altered the pitch of her voice into a breathy rasp, " _'Rosa, Rosa. Do you wish to know a secret?'_ I was just a child then, not even ten summers. Of course I wanted to know a secret!"

"Anyway," Rosa went on and Solas caught the abrupt darkness that screened her eyes—but only for an instant. "So I tell the birds I'm listening and they caw back to me, _'You have a brother, but you will never know him.'_ And I told them they were daft and walked away again."


	12. Big Liar: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what I was in my time, boy?" –Felassan (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas hears a very interesting story from Rosa, though she says it's a lie. Flirting continues.

As was becoming tradition, Solas accepted Rosa's proffered arm when they reached the end of their long table, shuffling out of the dining hall with the other older apprentices. Although he hadn't worked his muscles the way he had the previous few days, he was still glad to lean slightly on her. She steadied him as they approached the entryway and Tal, once more, had fallen behind to converse with the same teenage elven apprentices. Whether that was to give Rosa and Solas some distance or to covertly seek gossip and to learn more about ongoings in the tower—such as the investigation into Curtis' death—Solas couldn't be certain.

With that in mind, he leaned close to Rosa and murmured in elven, _"Your brother is a consummate actor."_

She chuckled, her eyes flashing as she gave him a sidelong look. "You bet he is. Good job seeing through him in the game. Tonight we can play with wine." Her smile widened.

"I will look forward to seeing if you can match Tal's skill," Solas told her and blinked, surprised as he registered the silky, flirtatious undertone in his own voice.

Rosa's violet eyes crinkled with amusement, her skin tone warm with what might have been a flush of excitement. Her lips curled in a toothy grin. "And _I_ will look forward to besting you."

Her breath was warm against his cheek, fanning over his skin as she spoke. He could smell the lingering scent of her, still clean from their respective baths the previous night. The thought of pulling her closer, of stealing a kiss made his fingers on her arm twitch as the thrill of both delight and danger set his heart racing. Yet he pushed that thought away as ludicrous and felt hot with a flash of irritation at himself. How could he have allowed himself to grow so infatuated and easily distracted? A product of boredom and austerity—it must be, surely…

And then, suddenly, he registered motion off to his far left and heard the harsh clank of metallic armor. Turning his head, Solas saw the glimmer of Ser Jeremy's armor as the human bore down on them, glaring. "No fraternization," he growled when he was within arm's reach of them.

Deciding to act demurely, Solas released his grip on Rosa's arm and took a small step back from her. Yet he didn't adopt a hunched posture, instead his shoulders and back stayed straight and erect, his muscles holding him without shaking. He averted his gaze from Ser Jeremy, knowing that if he met the Templar's eye he'd likely sneer at him or glower, giving away the broiling resentment scorching him from within. His cheeks were aflame regardless and that was bad enough. He knew from long experience at Arlathan's court that even the subtlest sign could spur a bully on. He'd seen it well enough in Elgar'nan, Falon'Din, and Andruil, the three most hotheaded Evanuris.

"Better," Ser Jeremy said with a malevolent snarl. "Now, get a move on. You lot are holding things up." He slapped Solas' shoulder hard with his metal gauntleted hand. The pain and force of the blow made Solas stagger forward, barely managing to withhold a yelp of both surprise and discomfort.

Rosa rushed to catch him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and shuffling with him forward. " _Shemlen_ filth," she snarled under her breath. She was stiff at Solas' side, shifting as she glanced to their right to where another Templar stood guard, also glaring in silent reprimand and unity with his fellow. They would receive no pity today in the wake of Curtis' mysterious death.

"Hey," Ser Jeremy called, tromping along behind them. "I said no fraternizing. The bald twig can walk on his own."

Rosa's grip on Solas only tightened. She didn't look back and didn't stop pushing forward. Solas moved with her, feeling his pulse throb in his throat. "You'd best let me walk on my own," he murmured to her quietly.

"No," she growled. "I saw how hard he hit you."

"He will only hit me again if you do not—"

"Hey," Ser Jeremy shouted, stomping toward them. "You deaf, knife-eared witch?" The Templar's cold metal hand landed on Solas' shoulder and tugged him sharply away from Rosa. He bit back his strangled cry, clenching his jaw and willing himself not to look at Jeremy, not to give him anything to fuel further abuse.

But then, abruptly, Ser Jeremy's crushing grip slipped from Solas' shoulder and the world spun momentarily as he whipped around, stumbling backward, and saw Rosa had inserted herself between him and Jeremy. She faced him, shoulders square and back ramrod straight, her chin tilted up to glower at the Templar despite his greater height. Her shoulders heaved with each breath and her hands had curled into fists at her sides.

"Can't you see I'm helping him walk, brute?" she demanded, her voice fiery with defiance.

The hallway had gone still with shock. Apprentices stared, gawking. A few of them continued to scurry by, eager to escape the confrontation unnoticed. Solas took in the angry looks on some of the apprentices' faces—mottled red with rage, narrowed eyes wishing death upon Ser Jeremy. The air felt charged, thick and alive with tension…and magic. Tal was among them, but unlike them he appeared pallid and twitchy, brown eyes frantic as they darted around between Jeremy, Rosa, and then Solas.

"You know what I see here, bitch?" Jeremy snarled at her and then, with a metallic clank of his armor, he slapped her across the face. "Insubordination."

She stumbled from the force of the blow and Solas lurched forward to catch her, but Rosa pushed him away, regaining her balance almost immediately. Rounding to face Jeremy again, she spat blood off to one side and assumed the same proud, defiant posture. "Hit me if you like," she snarled. "If that makes you feel better about your lot in life as a thug. Who knows? Maybe you'll finally get a promotion if you bully enough apprentices into crying. But you'll never break _me."_

"Shut it," Jeremy yelled and slapped her again, harder this time.

Rosa staggered again and this time Solas caught her and, with as much force as he could muster, he tried to haul her backward and out of Jeremy's reach. "Please," he begged her, his breath hissing. "Do not foolishly antagonize—"

"Not foolish," she protested, clawing at the blood dribbling from her mouth where she'd bitten her lip or her tongue. Solas couldn't be sure which it was.

Jeremy closed on them rapidly, snatching Rosa by her braided topknot at the back of her head. She grunted through gnashed teeth and though Solas tried to cling to her, Jeremy easily ripped her away from him. Solas staggered with how abruptly she'd been pulled away and had to reach for the nearest wall to catch himself. Dimly, through the surge of mounting fear and rage inside, Solas felt a burning ache in his left shoulder where Jeremy had hit him.

"I'll show you what happens to insubordinate spellbinders like you, witch," Jeremy snarled. He jerked on her hair again and she made a strangled noise of pain, refusing to cry out. Turning round, he addressed the gawking apprentices. "See this? You cause trouble, this is what happens." He spat at Rosa, his face an ugly, twisted mask of derision.

"She was just trying to help Revas," Tal said, voice breathy and tight through gnashed teeth.

"Yeah," another apprentice said. "Leave her alone." Others began to repeat the same, their eyes angry and their voices sharp with outrage.

And, in the space of a heartbeat, Solas saw the mood turn as Jeremy and the other Templar a little further down the hall assessed their surroundings and realized they did not have the upper hand. There were dozens of apprentices loitering in the hall, staring, and many of them seemed just as anxious and angry as Tal and the others who'd spoken out. Solas felt their magic swell, invisible and yet powerful, like heat thrown from a fire. His skin prickled with gooseflesh as awe washed over him. These same apprentices had been willing to watch Rosa be manhandled mere days ago by Curtis. Now, as if a switch had been thrown, they seemed aware of their own power for the first time. Rosa's nighttime Fade-walking was working.

"What are you looking at?" Jeremy demanded, lips curling with derision—but his eyes were wide with fear. "Get moving, the lot of you!"

"Let her go," Solas snarled, his own hands closing into fists.

"Ser Jeremy…" the other Templar guard called from further down the hall, his voice tight with tension. It was a warning.

"Fine," Jeremy grumbled. He jerked Rosa around by the hair and pushed her toward a group of apprentices who caught her with wide open arms. "Have it your way." He stabbed a finger at Solas. "But you—no fraternizing. You hear? Next time it'll be solitary confinement." He clapped his metal gauntleted hands together in a loud clatter and ordered the apprentices, "Get going!"

The apprentices started moving once more. Solas watched Rosa walking with the gaggle of other apprentices, all of whom wore concerned looks. A few tossed angry glares over their shoulders, doubtless at Jeremy, though he was no longer visible after they'd rounded the bend and headed for the stairs. Tal jogged forward to join them, moving to offer Rosa aid, but she pushed him away, shaking her head. Blood stained her chin like a goatee and her left cheek was already swelling, puffy and discolored.

Solas stayed out of her group, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the shakiness of his legs as he wondered how much of what she'd done had been to protect him and how much had been to rile up the apprentices. It seemed losing Rogathe had done nothing to dull her desire to face danger headlong. Her words echoed in his mind: _You will never break me,_ and the image flashed before his eyes again—proud and defiant before the armored Templar, challenging his brutality with her bravery. It still seemed foolish to Solas, but he'd seen Mythal do the same with Elgar'nan and admired her for it. _Adored_ her, even.

_No,_ Solas scolded himself, emptying his mind, _Stop that._ Still, when he thought of Rosa facing down Jeremy, of using her brash bravery to manipulate the apprentices and to protect him…something warm rose within him. He didn't dare consider it.

The tactic she'd used had been foolhardy. Solas far preferred cunning, the way of the unseen trickster. Of course, that path _had_ made him into the monster and villain the Dalish remembered. _Falsely_ remembered, that was.

* * *

With no standing chores or classes to attend, Solas sought out the apprentice barracks to receive new instructions from the mage overseeing the apprentices. His new assignment was to join a class focused on physical training, with the hope that it would aid in his bodily recovery, increasing his strength and stamina. Following the other apprentices enrolled in the course, Solas found himself in a large, open hall, lit with braziers that cast a deep orange glow and smelled vaguely of incense. He was given a mockup of a mage's staff and took his place in line with the other students to go through the motions of common spells. That meant twirling the heavy wooden stave or holding it just so, parallel to the ground, for prolonged periods. Soon he was drenched in sweat and shaking so uncontrollably he had to sit down.

But, rather than give up for the day, Solas took up the stave again as soon as his arms and legs felt suitably rested and returned to the same exercises. The mage teaching the class and the other students all seemed to smile with encouragement at him, silently approving of his determination. With their support, silent though it was, Solas pressed on until exhaustion made his limbs numb and seemed to have transformed them to lead. But the workout was perfect for clearing his mind and kept him from thinking of Rosa or remembering Mythal, which he was thankful for. Better still, he knew he needed the exercise, though he also knew it'd prove to be agony later.

So it was that come dinnertime he had to lean heavily on the teacher, who agreed to escort him to the dining hall. The mage, a youthful looking brunette with very little gray in his hair, had introduced himself as Roth and proceeded to compliment Solas on his form while in the class.

"My thanks," Solas told him, breathily and struggling to smile through his pain.

"It's clear you've experience," Roth went on as they walked down the hallway, passing Templar guards as they rounded a corner. Solas kept sneaking quick glances at them; worried one would be Jeremy, out to bully him further. But they ignored him.

"I was not always unable to cast," Solas told Roth. "Nor was I always weak."

"I understand that," Roth replied, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You misunderstood my meaning, ser. The Chantry wants us taught to fight, but never expects us to use it unless they call on us for an Exalted March or a Blight. My students do well enough, but their motions are slow and unhurried. They've never seen combat."

Solas shot the mage a curious look. "And you have?"

Roth nodded. "I was a teen when the Fifth Blight took Ferelden. I'd just passed my Harrowing, and many of the Senior Enchanters then were _desperate_ to fight. I was young and cocky, so I leapt at the chance to join them." He shuddered, the motion passing from him to rattle Solas, who still leaned heavily on the other man. "I still have nightmares about it. But it gave me the experience I needed to better teach the apprentices." He frowned, pursing his lips as he looked at Solas. "But, where did _you_ learn to fight?"

"I was trained by the Dalish," Solas lied. "Most of my experience is in fighting bandits and beasts." Quickly, he turned the conversation back to praising Roth. "I never did anything so noble and valiant as defending Thedas from Darkspawn."

Roth grunted, seeming to swell with the praise, as Solas had intended. "Well, it was the least I could do. Not much point having magic if there isn't a use for it, right?"

"I couldn't agree more," Solas answered, smiling.

"Anyway," Roth said, shrugging. "I wondered if eventually, when you've recovered your strength and passed your Harrowing, if you might be inclined to start another class like mine. I always have more students than I can handle—apprentices _and_ mages."

The idea _was_ intriguing, and Roth couldn't have known just how perfectly suited Solas was to it—considering he'd taught courses to Elvhen youth pre-Veil. He nodded, smiling genuinely even through his ongoing aching pain. "I would be honored," he replied.

"Good," Roth said with a nod. "I'll recommend it to the First Enchanter."

The dining hall was abuzz with chatter and the clinking of utensils on bowls as dozens of older apprentices gobbled their evening meal. Without being asked, Roth helped Solas grab a tray and carry it to his seat at the long table, bidding him a warm goodbye before taking his leave. Like all fully-fledged mages, Roth didn't eat until later as the dining hall was too small to accommodate so many at once.

As Solas slumped into his seat he saw Rosa, Tal, and Varric all watching him with varying amounts of amusement or curiosity. It was Tal who spoke first, as usual. "So, make a new friend, Revas?"

"Perhaps," Solas hedged.

"Who was he?" Rosa asked. Her cheek held a yellowish bruise but otherwise appeared normal. No doubt she'd mostly healed herself with magic after the beating she'd received from Jeremy.

"A teacher," Solas said and frowned at her, annoyed at the probing. He had yet to try and eat anything from his tray and any movement at all took immense concentration as he had to fight off shakiness and a wall of pain. Tonight the meal was baked fish of some kind, breaded and with a dipping sauce. Steamed broccoli and cinnamon-caramel apple slices completed the ensemble…with wine of course. Solas stabbed a broccoli floret and grimaced with the pain the effort brought.

"It's Roth," Tal supplied, speaking to Rosa and Varric. "He teaches the apprentices footwork and fighting. He's a veteran of the Blight."

Rosa arched a brow. "Interesting."

"Ah," Varric said with a grin. "Young love."

Rosa snorted, wrinkling her nose at the dwarf. "Hardly."

"Rosa is a _purist,_ " Tal said to Varric with a wink in his sister's direction. "A _true_ Dalish woman knows she can never sully herself with a _shemlen._ "

"Oh, shut it, Tal," Rosa scolded. "You know that's not true."

"Yeah," Tal rejoined, laughing. "It's worse. Clan Naseral thinks even city elves would sully their precious pureblood." He looked to Solas and flashed a sheepish grin. "Sorry to break it to you, Revas."

Solas restrained his desire to frown, irritated at the pretentiousness of the Dalish as usual, but he kept his lips locked as a quick glance at Rosa revealed she was blushing.

"Seriously, Tal," she growled. _"Shut up."_

"Well," Varric interjected, clearing his throat and smirking. "This is awkward. But, not shocking. We dwarves know all about _purity._ Just ask Orzammar," Varric muttered, frowning.

"How so?" Solas asked, genuinely intrigued, and eager for a change in subject.

Varric grunted, scraping at his breaded fish with the butter knives they'd been provided for dinner. "Guess you probably haven't heard, but the population is dwindling, at least in Orzammar. There's a…fertility problem. Too few children born, despite everyone's best efforts."

"Why's that?" Tal asked, a concerned look warping his features, as if he expected the dwarves to suddenly evaporate during his own lifetime.

Varric shrugged his beefy shoulders. "No one's sure, but most of Orzammar blames the Blight. Anyway, let's talk about something else." He blew out a breath, scrubbing over his stubbly face a moment before motioning toward Rosa and Solas. "I already paid Stoic my penance for losing earlier. I think it's time Revas tried again."

"Very well," Solas said with a slight nod. Pinching his lips together, he panned through his mind, seeking _something_ safe he could share with them. Telling two outright lies was a possibility, but he'd have to pick one as "true," and then remember it as part of his cover story. Eventually he could become ensnared in his own web of lies. The best way to avoid that was to stick as much to the truth as possible, but to remain vague and cagey.

Clearing his throat, Solas began. "Some years ago, as I wandered the wilderness, I stumbled on a village assailed by bandits. I had intended to stay in the village if they proved friendly and willing to trade in herbs or furs, but it was clear that there would shortly be no village at all unless I acted. It was also clear that these bandits were far from the ordinary highwaymen. They were well-armed and militant in their discipline. I knew the fight would be difficult, but I could not sit idly by and allow the villagers to be slaughtered."

Tal whistled. "Such confidence, hahren! Not to mention courage. How many were there?"

This was the downside of telling his tale so altered. Solas' audience didn't understand the truth about him—that he'd encountered not a handful of bandits, but a contingent of arcane warriors devoted to Falon'Din—and defeating them had been _easy._ Yet it had also exposed him as a very powerful man who should have been in the upper class of Elvhenan's society, not wandering the wilderness. The villagers, believing he must be a nobleman serving Dirthamen, the Evanuris who ruled their lands, had pleaded with him to take their case to the other Evanuris and rise to their defense against Falon'Din's warriors. Touched by their suffering and determined to stop Falon'Din, Solas had given up his lonely life of solitude and peace to set out for the glorious city.

"By the time I arrived the village men had killed and wounded several of the bandits," Solas explained to scale the story down to a level his audience would believe. "There were only nine or ten men by then. I had the element of surprise as I'd been watching from the hills surrounding the village."

Dropping his gaze to his lap to feign humility, Solas said, "Before losing my talents and entering my current frail state, I was quite talented. I managed to kill half of them before they knew where to let fly their arrows or charge on the offensive. The rest I dispatched soon after, though I was severely weakened afterward. If the villagers had wished, they could have killed me, but fortunately they were grateful instead. I stayed with them over the winter with free room and board as a reward for my good deed."

"Not half bad, Chuckles," Varric said, scratching at his chin. "Not sure I believe it as I've never seen you in action, but I could see it being true."

"I never ran into so much trouble on the road," Tal put in with a shake of his head. "But then again, if it'd been me and Rosa we wouldn't have gotten close enough to intervene. The most important rule to surviving in a shemlen-ruled world is to avoid them at all costs." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "That was how we ended up here. Got sloppy and walked into a _shemlen_ settlement."

"Yeah," Rosa agreed with Tal, shooting him a brief irritated look. "Because _you_ insisted we should trade." Turning to Solas, she said, "Good story." Rosa wore the coy smile over her lips, her violet eyes glinting. "On with the next one, flat-ear."

"When I was but a child, slavers from Tevinter came through our small village. We lived not far from here, so we were quite close to the border with the Tevinter Imperium. As you might expect then, it was relatively common for us to see slavers. But, unlike in other areas where the slavers attacked or stole their victims primarily, these men preferred using coin. They took children from families too poor to feed them, targeting elves first and foremost, of course."

He stopped, drawing in a breath as he heard the bitter, cold rage cracking his voice and had to smother it and recompose himself. "When a family refused to sell, as many did regardless of how poor and starving they were, the slavers then resorted to snatching children away. One day, fortune was not with me and I was nearly taken. I was in the woods, picking mushrooms for the evening meal with other children from my village when three slavers found us."

Sneaking a swift look at Rosa, Solas saw she scrutinized him with narrowed eyes, sharp as knives. Yet her lips had parted slightly and her shoulders had hunched, revealing the underlying emotion that must be winding her up within. Varric and Tal were both silent, enraptured as they listened.

Solas went on, "I was the first to flee, but the slavers took a friend of mine who was not so quick to act. From a thicket nearby I watched as they bound her. I bade the other boy with me to flee to our village and seek help. Once he left I tried to follow them, because I was determined to save her. I was furious, enraged beyond sense. I drew too close and the slavers tried to take me as well. When they laid their hands on me, I froze them. It was the first time I had used magic. It was enough to frighten them off, but I never did manage to save the girl, to my shame."

"Shit, Chuckles," Varric said, shaking his head. "I should have called you Hero."

"He could be lying about both stories," Tal suggested, flashing a teasing smile at Solas. "People cheat at this game all the time."

Solas frowned at Tal, unhappy at how close to the truth the younger elf was. Both stories had elements of truth within them, but both were also heavily altered from what he had actually experienced. The bandits had been arcane warriors and Solas had killed them easily, without any mana burnout or weakness afterward. And the tale from his childhood had been a reimagined version of Elvhenan's forced class system, which stole children away from their families if they had too little or too much magical talent. There had been no slavers involved, no Tevinter, and Solas had not valiantly tried to save the girl they'd taken away to the lower classes where she might truly become a slave eventually. Although Solas could have stopped the officials—nobility serving Elgar'nan—with his immense magical strength even as a young child, he knew that doing so would expose him. Then the nobles would take _him_ away. To save his own skin, Solas had done nothing, seething inwardly at his own helplessness and selfishness as a growing weight of shame settled over his shoulders. Centuries later it would be one of the countless experiences that drove him to become the Dread Wolf.

"I'm going with the second story being the truth," Tal announced. "But I've been wrong every time, so…" He grimaced and shrugged. "I should just give you my wine ahead of time, Revas."

Now Solas smiled at him, chuckling. "If I am lying about both stories, then I can pick and choose who wins. Perhaps I will take pity on you."

Tal raised his glass of wine in a mock toast. "Or maybe I'll get smart about this game and drink all my wine before I lose!"

"I'm going to go with Stoic on this one," Varric said, still rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "Felt grittier to me. But then again, maybe that's because I knew an ex-Tevinter slave." He sighed, frowning. "Hard to hear about that sort of shit and not feel like you just took a punch to the gut."

Now only Rosa's guess remained. Solas met her gaze, trying to keep his expression impassive. Her violet eyes flicked over him, assessing him. Like Varric, she had one hand over her chin, holding it as she wore a thoughtful look on her face. Finally she dropped her hand away from her chin and reached for her wine glass. Sloshing the liquid inside, she stared into it as she said, "The first story is the truth."

"Are you certain?" Solas asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Tal groaned. "Rosa's always right. Damn, Varric. Hurry, drink your wine before Revas gets to claim it."

Snorting at Tal, Rosa's lips quirked in her infamous coy smile. "Honestly, I'm just trying to play the part of the rebel here. I'm going against the grain. I have no idea which is true—if _either_ of them are."

Solas rolled his eyes. " _Ma serannas, da'len_ , for your vote of confidence as to my integrity."

Her eyes danced with amusement. "The best players are the ones who lie and do it well," she told him and winked. "It's not an insult."

"So," Varric said, clapping his hands and leaning closer to the table. "Which is it? Don't leave us in suspense, Chuckles."

The first story was truer than the second, with fewer alterations and lies. So, with a tight smile, Solas said, "Rosa is correct."

"Ugh," Tal whined. He pushed his wineglass toward Solas. "Take it. Just take it, you monster."

Varric sighed as well. "We just can't win, Stoic."

Smirking with triumph, Solas ignored Tal's proffered wine and instead used his spoon to scoop out the cinnamon caramel-apple slices. He did the same to Varric, who grunted and said, "Well, losing to Chuckles isn't as bad as I thought it'd be."

"Speak for yourself," Tal complained, huffing. "Those apples were what I was _really_ looking forward to."

"Revas needs the energy more than you do, Tal," Rosa teased. To Solas she winked. "Eat up, flat-ear. Put some meat on your bones."

Chewing on the apples he'd won from Tal, Solas had to stifle his chuckling or risk choking, though he could do nothing to prevent the flush of warmth that passed through him. It only intensified when he realized she was smiling at him with something…carnal glinting in her eyes. Pretending he hadn't noticed and thought nothing of it, Solas quickly dug into his fish, shoveling several forkfuls into his mouth in rapid succession.

"All right, Violet," Varric said. "You've won every round so far. Now it's your turn. Tell us a story."

Clearing her throat, Rosa leaned closer to the table to rest her elbows upon it and spoke in a hushed, melodic voice. "Before I left my clan, I was First to the Keeper. My clan lives in the Brecilian forest, so isolated that we only ever traded with _shemlen_ once a year, and to get to their settlement we had to walk for a week from our usual hunting grounds. One night, in the middle of our journey to the _shemlen_ city, we camped in the midst of some ancient ruins from before the fall of Arlathan. That night, as I slept, I dreamt of two ravens cawing to me from where they perched atop the white stone columns. At first I couldn't understand them, but then I felt their words inside the cawing, like whispers carried through my bones. They called my name," she altered the pitch of her voice into a breathy rasp, " _'Rosa, Rosa. Do you wish to know a secret?'_ I was just a child then, not even ten summers. Of course I wanted to know a secret!"

Tal laughed at her animated expression, as did Varric. Solas smiled as well, but his body had gone cold, coated in sweat. The pale vallaslin on Rosa's face marked her for Dirthamen, and the two ravens speaking to her in the Fade immediately reminded him of the other Evanuris' enslaved spirits—demons, rather. Fear and Deceit had served their master, bound by magic and blood, for countless centuries. And, although their master was now trapped in the Black City with his brethren, Solas never knew what became of the ravens. Had they been trapped in the waking world when the Veil went up, or had they been caught within the Fade? Could they still hear their master and heed his call?

"Anyway," Rosa went on and Solas caught the abrupt darkness that screened her eyes—but only for an instant. "So I tell the birds I'm listening and they caw back to me, _'You have a brother, but you will never know him.'_ And I told them they were daft and walked away again."

Tal snorted, grinning. "That one's the lie, and I haven't even heard the second one."

"Oh, ha-ha. We'll see about that, considering your record so far." Rosa spooned a bit of the cinnamon caramel apple into her mouth and chewed, slow and deliberate as she smirked at her brother.

"Enough you two," Varric scolded lightheartedly. "Time's short. On with the story."

"All right, I can't compete with Tal's vallaslin story—lie though it was—but I have one of my own. I was fasting and meditating out alone to cleanse myself and decide which Creator I would devote myself to. While I was out there, in the lonely darkness, staring up at the stars, I saw something I can't explain. It was like a flock of birds, but instead of birds it was blinking lights, so high up they were like stars. They marched across the sky in formation, making triangles and diamonds. And then the blinking lights upfront stopped and waited for the ones behind to catch up. I sat there stunned, my jaw hanging open, until the lights grew too dim to see. To this day I don't know what they were."

Solas cocked his head, considering both tales as Varric and Tal did the same. The first story seemed less outlandish than the second, yet that could be a trap. Varric wouldn't be in on the joke regarding the two ravens' message to her about Tal, but that might not harm his chances of guessing correctly. Solas recalled the darkness in Rosa's eyes as she'd recited the last portion of her raven story and felt certain she had altered it much as he had with his. Perhaps the ravens had had something else to say?

"First story is the real one," Varric pronounced. "The second one is just too weird. You sure you weren't delirious from lack of food out there, Violet?"

She shrugged. "Can't say." Jerking her chin toward Solas, she said, "What's your guess, flat-ear?"

"The first is the truth," he said, the words clipped and precise. _Except I know you will say it's not._ He narrowed his eyes at her, adopting a coy smile of his own. He would lose this round, but that would allow him to demand a rematch later and probe her in private regarding the raven story.

Tal snorted, shaking his head. "The second one is the truth," he said. "Just you wait. I can see right through you, Rosa."

Rosa sat back in her seat, grinning wide. "Revas and Varric lose. Tal wins—for the first time."

Varric clucked his tongue with disappointment. "Really? Shit. I'm way better at cards."

"Your story fooled me," Tal consoled him with a reassuring smile. "That's something. Don't feel bad. Rosa cheats."

"Cheating or not, I fooled Revas," she said, beaming. She dusted off her hands with a clap of each palm, a gesture to emphasize how proud she was of a job well done. "That makes me happy."

"I will, of course, demand a rematch, lethallan," Solas murmured, smirking at her.

"Demand all you want," Rosa chuckled. "It won't change anything. I _bested_ you."

"Yeah, and now she'll never let us hear the end of it," Tal grumbled. "Didn't your mother ever tell you gloating is unbecoming?"

Rosa shrugged. "I'm a poor student." Reaching across the table, she snatched Solas' wineglass and took a long swig from it, her throat bobbing. When she'd finished she sighed contentedly and set it back on the table, smacking her lips with enjoyment. Then, looking at Varric, she said, "I'll spare you, dwarf. Since you lost all three times. Let it never be said that I was cruel."

Varric chuckled. "How magnanimous of you."

When a mage finally called for dinner to end, Solas heaved himself up again, groaning and wincing as his muscles and joints screamed anew with agony. He hobbled his way down to the end of the long table where Rosa was waiting for him, arm proffered. But Solas shook his head and tried to push past her. "I have no desire to face another incident should Ser Jeremy be on duty."

Rosa huffed with annoyance. "You stubborn old goat, you can barely walk." She walked alongside him, edging closer and continuing to offer her arm.

Solas knew his face was set in a harsh grimace of pain, but he resisted, trying to disguise his agony with levity. "Goat? I have never been called that before."

"Well, maybe I should have called you a halla. You're pale enough right now to pass as one in that respect." When he still made no move to accept her help, Rosa sighed and laid her hand over his back, between his shoulder blades. Before Solas could question her, he felt the tingle of magic caress his skin and the cool touch of her healing spell washed over him. He shuddered, biting his tongue to keep from groaning with relief as some of the pain slipped away.

" _Ma serannas,_ " he breathed, thanking her.

She made a humming noise of acknowledgement and they walked in silence out of the dining hall. The Templars on duty today paid them no mind, much to Solas' relief. Once they'd rounded the corner and were out of sight of the guards, Solas let himself lean closer to Rosa and she responded by ducking under his arm to support him. The flow of her magic went on, unabated. Solas sopped it up like a sponge, relishing its caress and comfort.

Then, Rosa murmured under her breath, "So, you know how to fight."

A lance of anxiety made him tense as he realized Rosa was analyzing the stories he'd told of himself in their game. "As do you," he retorted. "And I had the element of surprise."

"Uh-huh," she replied, grunting.

Two could play this game.

"What did the ravens actually tell you?" Solas asked her, his voice tight with tension from both his body and the guarded conversation.

Rosa jerked her head, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "That story was a lie."

"How unfortunate for you that I am not deceived," Solas told her, letting his own imitation of her coy smile spread over his lips.

They'd reached a junction in the hallway where their paths would part—her to help haul water for the evening baths and he to rest in the barracks. Rosa pulled away from him, her magic fading and leaving Solas shaky with pain and weakness again. But, before striding down the other hallway with the smattering of their fellow apprentices also heading that way, she said, "I'll see you tonight, flat-ear."

"I would not miss it, lethallan," he answered, struggling to smile through his pain.

* * *

Elven Used

_Ma serannas_ "My thanks." (I frequently forget to list this as it was used in-game a few times and I foolishly assume everyone knows what it means)

_Lethallan/Lethallin_ "cousin" used to denote friendly fellow elf. Lethallan is female, lethallin is male.

_asamalin/isamalin_ "sister/brother" these I use often and always forget to define.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

She drew closer again, reaching for Tal and laying her hands over his shoulders. When she spoke now it was earnest and impassioned. "We are of the People. We do not belong in a Circle tower, caged and locked away by the shemlen. We are Dalish, the last _true_ Elvhen. We do not submit. We endure." She gave him a little shake. "Together."

Tal frowned at her. "You really think that just because I'm not afraid of joining the Circle, of undergoing the Harrowing, that I've forgotten who and what I am?" He gestured to his face, tracing a forefinger over the branches of Mythal's vallaslin over his cheeks and forehead. "You think I chose this vallaslin idly?" he growled and then shook his head. "This is why I _need_ to be the one to undergo the Harrowing. I'm the only one between us who understands you can be more and not betray your people."

"That isn't what this is about," Rosa insisted, her voice growing angry. "Elgar'nan's fiery butthole, I'm not afraid of the Harrowing. I'm afraid of losing _you."_

 

 

 


	13. Falon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My people had a saying long ago—'the healer has the bloodiest hands.' You cannot treat a wound without knowing how deep it goes. You cannot heal pain by hiding it. You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better."—Solas party banter w/ Blackwall
> 
> Rosa shows Solas where the templars keep his orb. Solas can no longer deny he's got a thing for Rosa, and that makes him broody. #BroodyElves. The mages play another drinking game with Varric. Rosa gets arrested. #OhShit

Screams rent the air, high-pitched and bloodcurdling. Solas' eyes shot open to see a village in chaos, homes aflame and elves running or hurling magic. It was not his birth village, but the one he'd witnessed Falon'Din's arcane warriors attacking. Smoke coiled into the sky as mage fire licked its way up the thatch roofs of the houses. A hut collapsed with a roar of flames. A woman screamed piteously as an arcane warrior ran her through with his spectral blade.

And, high overhead, the Black City loomed, like a spider watching from its web.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Solas pivoted on his heel and strode toward the forested hills behind him. The daylight sunshine was cheery despite the carnage behind him. Fade ether wafted up about the grasses and when Solas stared up at the sun he could see the telltale crystalline colors of the restored Fade—further proof this was Elvhenan. He knew he could try and alter the scene before Rosa walked into it, but doing so would be excruciating. He hoped that by retreating further from the village he could force the Fade to adopt a forest scene instead—but he might not have the time.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Solas sensed another Dreamer's presence. Drawn by a phantom sense of being watched, he whipped around to gaze at the hills off to his left and saw Rosa standing atop a black, flat topped rock. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she gazed down on the burning village below, violet eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Could she see the villagers were all elves? Could she tell that the mages attacking them were arcane warriors wearing Falon'Din's vallaslin?

Solas' blood seemed to have turned to ice in his veins.

Gritting his teeth, Solas reached for the Fade and felt it connect within him, acknowledging him. He willed the entire dream to vanish, like rubbing away ink on parchment or pulling vallaslin from a slave's face with a spell. He felt something shift and his skin tingled as the Fade acquiesced to his will. And then agony swamped him, as if Elgar'nan's fire itself had exploded within his temples.

Letting out a strangled cry of pain, Solas stumbled backward. Oily, slick Fade puddles splashed as he fell. Sandy, wet soil mushed beneath his knees as he curled into himself, both hands holding his head. He rocked in place, sucking in ragged breaths as he waited for the suffering to pass.

Dimly, through his agony, he heard a sharp whine-pop and sensed magic around him, prickling his skin. Then, abruptly, he felt a cool hand lay over his scalp and healing magic caressed him, forcing away the pain in his temples. He withdrew his shaking hands from his face and opened his eyes enough to confirm that it was Rosa standing over him, her palm and her magic easing his pain. The raw Fade lay around them, littered with gray and green stone, tawny sand, and water bubbling and dripping amidst the Fade-ether and rocks. A few wisps darted about in the distance, no doubt agitated by the abrupt transformation of the dreamscape.

" _Ma serannas_ ," he said, groaning. He let his eyelids flutter shut, savoring the relief and pleasure of her magic unabashedly.

She smiled, but it was tight and lopsided, failing to reach her eyes. "You're tough, Revas. For a flat-ear, anyway," she said, likely trying to tease him—but her tone was off. "I'd like to ask you about whatever it was I just saw, but I know you're going to refuse to talk about it."

"It was the remnants of a memory I once witnessed while dreaming in the ruins of a village," Solas lied. "The village died in a brutal attack."

Her fingers twitched against his scalp and the cooling magic flowed on as she hummed in the back of her throat. "Seemed too sharp to me to be a Fade-based memory."

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed inwardly, though her comment was anything but surprising. Rosa had revealed herself to be well-educated and clever countless times over. _Of course_ she'd know a Fade-remnant would be blurry and unclear.

Deciding silence was better than refuting her unspoken accusations, Solas changed subjects. "Where is Tal? I was to speak with him, as per our bargain."

"Yep," she agreed and took a step back from him, her hand falling from his scalp and ending the flow of blissful healing magic. "If you're ready, Revas."

Without the magic cooling him, washing away the pain, Solas wobbled a bit in his spot as dizziness made the raw Fade swirl around him. Gritting his teeth, Solas powered through it and rose to his feet. Slimy water and coarse sand coated his calves, knees, and feet. Swaying once he was upright, Solass drew in several deep breaths until he'd found his equilibrium. His temple throbbed in time with his heart, but the pain had diminished greatly and continued to do so.

"I am ready, lethallan," he told Rosa with a small nod, though that brought on a spurt of pain and made him wince.

She regarded him skeptically, one brow raised in silent question. Then, smiling warmly, she shut her eyes and dipped her chin in what Solas took to be concentration. A heartbeat later the Fade shimmered about them, transforming from the gloomy, gray-green rock and sand plain to a lush, hilly forest of broad-leafed trees. Solas heard the gentle babble of water behind him and turned to see a small gully there where a creek trickled. Across the gully Solas saw Tal laying on the hill, surrounded by ferns. A boy about his age rested with him, relaxed and reclined in a way that suggested intimacy.

Apparently sensing them, Tal shot upright. His cheeks were pink but he recovered from his embarrassment quickly as he called to them. "Rosa!" he shouted. "You're late! I was just starting to think the night was mine to enjoy." He gestured to the boy still reclining in the grass and ferns. Then, smirking, he waved to Solas. "Revas! What a surprise!"

"Tal, come over here," Rosa said, chuckling under her breath.

The young elf let out a longsuffering sigh and trotted down the hill to hop over the creek and scramble up the embankment to reach Solas and Rosa. He wore a sheepish look as he smiled at them both. "Hiya," he said to Solas.

"Greetings," Solas answered with a dip of his chin. "And _ir abelas_ , for disturbing you. Rosa insisted that I—"

"Wait, stop, stop." Tal held both hands up, palms out, to silence Solas. "Don't say it. Let me guess." His brown eyes shot over to Rosa and his lip quirked up, irritation flashing over his features. "She wants you to rag on me about the Harrowing and how I'll get myself killed playing nice with the mages and Templars. Is that it?"

Solas pinched his lips together unhappily. "In so many words, lethallin."

Rosa scoffed, shaking her head with disapproval. "Hear him out, Tal. He agrees with me."

"Does he?" Tal asked, glaring at her and then at Solas. "Truly? Or have you strong-armed him in some way?"

"I would never do something like—"

Solas interrupted her; unable to hide his amusement at how accurately Tal had read the situation. "She has indeed manipulated me into doing this, but I do share her concerns and would have volunteered willingly to speak with you regardless."

Rosa snorted, frowning at him. "You bastard, Revas," she grumbled, but only halfheartedly.

"You wish Tal to listen to you? To me?" Solas asked, a bit snappishly. "Then speaking honestly is the best way."

"Damn straight, Revas," Tal agreed, smiling and nodding his agreement.

Rosa groaned, rolling her eyes. "Fine, fine. Whatever." She strode closer to Tal and laid her hands over his shoulders, slow and deliberate, then squeezed. "You know I care about you. You know I'm not trying to control you or change you or make you miserable. I only want to protect you. Now and always. So, please, listen to me—and Revas, too—when we tell you that you _must_ try to avoid the Harrowing. There's no advantage in—"

Tal shook his head and backed away, averting his eyes. "You don't _get_ it, _asamalin._ You were always adored in your clan. You were First. You were Naseral's future. But me?" He snarled, glaring away to one side. "I spent my whole life being ridiculed by my clan's Keeper and all of his cronies and friends who sided with him against Father. I woke up every Creators-damned day knowing I had no place in the clan, that I would never be Keeper even though I was stronger than both the Keeper and his First. I knew eventually another child would be born with magic and then the clan would shun me."

Hearing the young elf's anguished retelling of what clan life had been like, Solas winced. Something tightened in his chest, aching with sympathy—and a bit of empathy. Solas had grown up knowing he'd also never truly belong in his village. He'd been a recluse and loner even in childhood, because he knew he had to hide the true depths of his powers. He had to feign mana burnout, discipline himself never to accidentally reshape reality, or to allow a spell to go off at full strength. It was exhausting. And, underlying that struggle, he'd always known one day he'd have to leave his village, to protect them by hiding his origins from the upper classes and the Evanuris.

Rosa frowned at her brother, reaching for him again. "Tal—please, just stop for a minute and _listen…_ "

"No," he snapped, withdrawing another few steps from her, out of her reach. " _You_ listen, Rosa. The mages here are the first people to ever treat me with real respect. They see a future for me. Parahel and Varian and Adwen talk to me about how great it'll be when I pass my Harrowing, all the wonderful things they'll teach me. While we're stuck here, why not make the most of it? Is that so bad?"

Rosa stared at her brother, eyes narrowed and lips puckered. Her chin wrinkled and her eyes were bright, her cheeks red. She sucked in a breath and the forest around them seemed to sigh as the wind stirred the canopy overhead. The sky darkened, as if with storm clouds as the Fade responded to the brooding emotions from the siblings.

In a deep, somber voice, Rosa said, "I see a future for you too, _isamalin_. I have always seen a future for you, from the moment we met at the Arlathvhen. I saw greatness in you, and I loved you. I pleaded with mam—" She broke off, choking as she shot Solas a quick glance, as if recalling his presence, then started over: "I begged my Keeper to let you join us as Second, even though we'd have four mages then. What do we care for shemlen restrictions?"

"You never told me this before," Tal grumbled, the suspicion in his voice unmistakable.

Rosa frowned. "Why would I? She said no. Emphatically." She pinched her lips together in a bitter expression.

"Because of _lenalin_ ," Tal muttered.

Solas frowned with confusion at the word. It meant _father,_ or male parent, but in Solas' experience it was only used in formal situations and therefore wasn't all that common to hear. Usually an elf would use the more familial and informal _babae_ or _baba._ Solas himself had called his father _babae._ He filed away this interesting distinction as the conversation went on.

"No," Rosa objected. "Because your clan was in _fucking Orlais."_

Tal scoffed, clearly disbelieving. "She could have taken me in during the Arlathvhen. She didn't. Don't fool yourself, Rosa. It was because—"

Rosa made a hissing sound, cutting the air with a sideways slice of her hand to silence Tal. "That's not the point, _isamalin._ The point is that even though Ghilath didn't appreciate you the way they should have—because they are _idiots—_ Naseral would have and some other clan still will."

She drew closer again, reaching for Tal and laying her hands over his shoulders. When she spoke now it was earnest and impassioned. "We are of the People. We do not belong in a Circle tower, caged and locked away by the _shemlen_. We are Dalish, the last _true_ Elvhen. We do not submit. We endure." She gave him a little shake. "Together."

Tal frowned at her. "You really think that just because I'm not afraid of joining the Circle, of undergoing the Harrowing, that I've forgotten who and what I am?" He gestured to his face, tracing a forefinger over the branches of Mythal's vallaslin over his cheeks and forehead. "You think I chose this vallaslin idly?" he growled and then shook his head. "This is why I _need_ to be the one to undergo the Harrowing. I'm the only one between us who understands you can become something more without betraying your people."

"That isn't what this is about," Rosa insisted, her voice growing angry. "Elgar'nan's fiery butthole, I'm not afraid of the Harrowing. I'm afraid of losing _you."_

"How do you think I feel?" Tal shot back, motioning angrily. "Every time you spit in a Templar's face, or stand there and challenge them into beating you? You think that's easy for me to watch? Let me help. Let me be the one in danger, _asamalin._ If I become a full-fledged member of the Circle, I'll have greater power. I can—"

"It's too risky," Rosa cut him off. "And it's not necessary. The rebellion will come. We just have to wait it out." She drew in a deep breath. "Tell him, Revas. Please."

Nodding in agreement, Solas said, "If you undergo the Harrowing you could be killed by the Templars simply for taking too long to complete the ritual. Rosa is correct to be concerned. There is also the added consideration of Ser Curtis' death. You recall that Varric said he knew a Dalish blood mage? The Templars may take advantage of your Harrowing to eliminate you simply for that coincidence."

Rosa interjected, "You can't trust the shemlen or the Chantry folk. What happens when they decide all of us must be blood mages?"

"It's a small risk," Tal insisted heatedly. "You blow it out of proportion. See, I'm not afraid of people letting me down the way you are—because I've spent my whole life being let down and I got over it." He shrugged. "But in your heart, you're still Naseral's First. You're still the future of the People, and when your Keeper banished you, it changed you. It turned you paranoid and cynical."

Rosa flinched back from him as if he'd slapped her. They stared at each other, glaring and tense, reminding Solas of two cats in the standoff after the initial alleyway brawl. He shifted uncomfortably, all too aware that this conversation was personal and not intended for his ears. Yet, it was also fascinating watching them and if he attracted attention to himself the confrontation was sure to end, or at least he would find himself cut off from it.

"Of course it changed me," Rosa snarled under her breath. "It taught me that the smallest, simplest missteps can get people killed. It taught me that in an instant, I can lose everyone and anything I hold dear." She made a strangled noise in her throat, a sort of half-sob. "You're all I have left, Tal."

"And _you_ are all I ever had, aside from mamae," Tal retorted somberly. "Let me help in the escape in my own way. Stop fighting me. _Please."_

Seeing an opportunity to help the siblings, Solas cleared his throat. "If I may make a suggestion, there might be a way for Tal to undergo the Harrowing with our protection, Rosa."

Both brother and sister glanced to him with expressions of bemusement creasing their faces. "What?" Rosa asked.

Solas smiled at them both and then focused on Rosa. "You could manipulate the Templar leadership, influence their opinions of Tal specifically. It should not prove exceptionally difficult for one of your talent."

"And what if he takes too long still to finish?" Rosa asked, frowning.

Tal scoffed. "C'mon. I can handle a demon. Have a little faith in me, _asamalin._ "

"We can aid in that as well," Solas suggested, still smiling his encouragement. "Assuming we can slip away from our duties when he is taken for his Harrowing, we can easily enter the Fade and lend our assistance."

"I don't need it," Tal protested, scowling. He glanced back over the creek in the depression separating their hillock from the one where an elven boy still sat amongst the ferns there and sighed out his irritation. "I may not be a Dreamer, but Father taught me all I needed to know about demons."

"I still don't like it," Rosa grumbled, though her expression was one of contemplation as she gazed back at Solas.

Tal groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're not even listening to me, are you? By Sylaise, I _hate_ it when you act like you're my damned Keeper."

"I was First," Rosa reminded him with a glare. "I was taught to be a leader. Clan or not, it's who I am." She huffed out a breath, squaring her shoulders. "And I say it's settled. Revas and I will protect you from the Fade."

"Yes, mamae," Tal grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered at his sister.

"Good then," Rosa said and nodded, pretending she didn't notice his irritation. She motioned toward the elven boy sitting amongst the ferns across the trough. "I think your friend is waiting on you, _isamalin._ Try not to let that spirit seduce you _too_ easily. Wouldn't want to shame yourself in front of all the wisps. What would your mamae think?" She clucked her tongue, smirking at him a moment before adding, "Revas and I will see ourselves out."

"Mythal save me," Tal groused, still glaring. "Overprotective, meddling Dreamer, paranoid…"

" _Ar lath ma_ to you too, little brother," she wisecracked, walking to stand closer to Solas, who tried to maintain an impassive expression to avoid drawing attention to himself. He watched, trying not to feel the twist of envy in his gut, as Rosa waved a hand casually and the Fade rippled. The lush forest and the babbling creek between the hills—along with Tal and the elven boy—vanished. The magic caress of it tingled Solas' skin and he repressed a shiver of longing.

"You miss being able to do this?" Rosa asked as the raw Fade came clear around them once more.

Solas scowled. Apparently he hadn't managed to disguise his emotions very well. "Do spirits inhabit the Fade?" he asked in turn, his voice dull and flat. "Does the Divine sing the Chant?"

"Are elves oppressed and enslaved?" Rosa added, arching an eyebrow at him. "Is the Dread Wolf a trickster?"

"Is this line of rhetorical questioning trying my patience?" Solas asked dryly, returning her raised brow look with one of his own. "Stay on task, lethallan. Show me what you know about where they keep the artifact."

Rosa put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him with disapproval. "You're no fun, flat-ear. Straight to business it is."

Whipping around, her heel grinding into the tawny sand underfoot, she lifted both arms up as if in supplication to the Black City high above, and once more Solas felt the Fade ripple as it submitted to her will. This time it transformed into the familiar gray stone of the Circle tower and Solas found himself standing beside a flight of stairs. The landing they stood on was grungy and dark, lit only by a glow lamp at the far end of the hall. Rooms lined the left side of the corridor, each numbered with runes.

"I do not recognize this level," Solas said, turning in a slow circle to get his bearings. The corridor doglegged at the landing, heading off to a sturdy looking wooden door with rusted hinges. Shelves and hooks lined the wall leading up to the door and Solas saw several tufted Templar helmets hanging from the hooks while on the shelves were armored gloves and gauntlets. "This is a Templar level of the tower," he guessed.

"Yep," Rosa said, strolling along the corridor with the closed doors marked with runes. "Specifically, this is the second level of the tower, just above the dungeons and the assembly room at the base." She trailed her fingers along the wall, then lifted them to trace over a rune as she stopped beside the second door down the hall. "Here," she said, patting the sturdy old wood. "This is where they locked away the foci."

Solas turned and strode to observe the door, swiftly memorizing its position. "And the key?"

She shot him that coy smile of hers and Solas fought the sudden urge to frown when he realized his first inclination had been to return it with real warmth and affection. When had he started adoring that smile? It should make him wary, but somewhere along the line he'd started wanting to see more and more of it. Rosa was far too clever, knowledgeable, and stubborn for him to be so unguarded.

_And too beautiful._

_Fenedhis. Stop. Thinking. Now._

"They keep the keys in the break room," she said, gesturing to the dogleg near the landing on the stairs where the other door stood closed with the hangers and shelving beside it. "Follow me." She scooted by him in the narrow hall, turning sideways to shimmy past him—and Solas was almost certain she deliberately brushed against him, closer than she needed to be. He felt the softness of her breast graze him juxtaposed with the hard flare of her hipbone a heartbeat later. He picked out her scent, lilac and vanilla, and his mouth flooded with saliva as his ever-traitorous body reacted with raw sexual want.

His hands flexed open and closed as he followed her, scowling now that she couldn't see his expression. _Fenedhis,_ how he craved to touch her, kiss her, _taste_ her. To clear his mind, Solas reached inward and stroked his depressingly empty mana core. The ache of that nothingness immediately froze the fire of his ardor and quashed his libido like an ant beneath a high dragon's clawed feet.

At the door to the break room, Rosa said, "Ah, here we are." Lifting both hands, she made a push motion at the air in front of the massive wooden door and it swung open, sudden and forcefully. Air wafted Solas' face and the hinges squealed. The metal door handle clattered loudly against the wood.

"Was that truly necessary?" Solas asked her.

Rosa flashed him a toothy smile over her shoulder. "Absolutely. I'm practicing." Rolling her shoulders, she strode forward over the gray stone, her bare feet slapping on it in a delightful sound that seemed to tickle Solas' ears.

Inside the break room Solas saw several long tables lined with chairs. Red tablecloths covered them, each emblazoned with the Templar heraldry. On one wall a tapestry of Andraste's pyre, surrounded by her most notable disciples, hung in full glory. Lengthways down the rectangular room was an arched doorway leading to what Solas suspected was a kitchen or storage room, possibly both. Though the room was sizeable, Solas knew it couldn't possibly sit all the Templars at once. Perhaps they ate in shifts just as the mages did?

"Are there multiple Templar dining rooms?" he asked Rosa. She seemed very knowledgeable of the tower's layout, as he'd expect from a Dreamer who'd been stalking others' dreams.

"Yep," she answered, walking to the wall where the tapestry hung. "But this is the only one on the second level." She snatched the edge of the tapestry and clenched her fist. "Love the artwork," she quipped, chuckling. "But the artist didn't get the fire right. I think I can improve it." A flicker of flame appeared in her fist and licked its way up the woven fabric, quickly dissolving it into ash.

Solas watched Andraste burn in the real fire with a small smirk curling over his lips. "I am truly offended by your wanton destruction and lack of respect for Andraste, _da'len_."

"No you're not," Rosa said without looking at him. The tapestry fell in tatters, still burning, from the wall, revealing a small hook that held a large iron loop of keys that'd been hidden behind it.

"There you are," she said, snatching the ring. The keys jangled musically as she pivoted round and walked back to him, extending the keys. "Care to guess which one it is?"

There were about ten keys on the ring, a few more than there were doors out in the hallway. Solas frowned as he gripped the iron ring and began looking over each key. A quick inspection showed that most had a rune engraved into their handles. Solas found the one matching the room Rosa had indicated and held it up.

Rosa inspected his selection quickly and nodded with approval. "Very good, flat-ear." She grabbed the keys back and grinned at him. "Here." In her other hand she conjured a cookie with a swirl of green Fade ether. "You get a cookie."

Solas flashed her a dry look. "You have the entirety of the Fade at your disposal and you use it to shape a cookie?" He shook his head with mock-disappointment. "Is that truly the best you can do, _da'len_?"

She shrugged, the coy smile spreading over her lips again. "I'm not very creative when it comes to food." With a flick of her wrist the cookie vanished into Fade ether and simultaneously she edged closer to him, pressing into his personal space and spoke in a low, sultry whisper, "But I promise I'm creative in _other_ ways."

Alarm bells screamed in Solas' mind even as his stomach leapt into his throat and his heart galloped in a frantic pace. Her scent flooded his nose; her violet eyes stared into his in expectation, glittering with warmth. _Pull away,_ a panicked, desperate voice boomed in his skull. _Run! Disengage!_

But his body seemed to have a will of its own, refusing to move or back down. He was frozen, like a deer staring down a wolf in the foolish, instinctual hope that motionlessness would render it invisible. He had the presence of mind to find that amusing—the Dread Wolf Solas becoming the Timid Halla Revas. What a role reversal!

And then Rosa turned her head slightly, her brow furrowing with concentration, and Solas felt the Fade react, changing around them suddenly. He had a moment to register that they seemed to be in a flat meadow surrounded by budding springtime trees several meters out—and then Rosa pushed him. The motion was so swift and unexpected that Solas had no defense and fell backward, landing on his rump with a splash in a mud puddle.

Rosa stood over him, laughing with delight. "How's this, flat-ear?"

Grimacing at the cold, sticky mud coating his backsides, legs, and forearms, Solas frowned. "I preferred the cookie."

"What did you expect?" she asked, hands on her hips as she circled around the slight depression marking his mud puddle. "I am Dalish, after all. We're savages who love to play in the mud." She stopped and wriggled her toes in the grass and dirt at the edge of the mud hole.

"I had hoped that at your age you would have grown out of it," Solas quipped. "Clearly I was mistaken."

"Itching for vengeance, Revas?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows at him. Then, inching closer, she leaned precariously over the puddle and extended her arm out to him. "Here, I'll give you a freebie. I'll help you up and you can pull me in after you. Then we're even."

"No." With a grunt, Solas ignored her proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet.

Rosa snorted, sounding disbelieving. "No?" she repeated. "You're really going to let me get away with it?"

"I prefer to bide my time and plot revenge on my own terms," Solas told her dryly. "I do not accept handouts." With a frown of concentration Solas willed his dream-self clean and made the mud transform into flowers and long grass instead. For the effort he suffered a streak of sharp pain through his temples and gnashed his teeth as he trudged out of the depression.

"Going to keep me in suspense then?" Rosa asked, smirking as she walked heel to toe in a delicate sashay around the edge of the former mud puddle. "Do your worst."

 _Oh,_ he thought with an inward sigh, _I've already done that._ Creating the Veil, destroying Elvhenan, robbing the People of their immortality to lock away the Evanuris, and sentencing them to a glacially slow extinction. He wanted to be irritated with Rosa's playful, childish prank, but when he recalled how truly _young_ she and all her kind were…how could he be short-tempered about it? Rosa would live and die in an eye blink because _he_ had robbed her and all of Thedas of the Fade.

The only justice in it all was that now that he was awake as well, Solas would share her fate as a mortal. The cold, iron grip of mortality seemed to strangle him. Brushing a hand over his chest and abdomen as if dusting himself off, he could feel his fully fleshed out muscles, strong and toned as they'd been before uthenera. But it was only an illusion, a projection of the Fade and his memory. He could forget here that time was not infinite, that every day that passed trapped in the Hasmal tower was one closer to him dying unfulfilled and unredeemed.

And with his death the elves would truly be doomed. Just as he'd been the one to destroy them, only Solas could save them. The last Evanuris and the only one to truly understand the Veil.

The weight of his thoughts smashed into his shoulders, making his bones feel leaden. A glance toward Rosa only made the knifelike pain in his chest intensify. She was a beautiful spirit, regal and yet playful with youth, and such an enigma in this post-Veil world as a Dreamer and a friend to spirits like Rogathe.

When she raised her head from staring down at the wildflowers he'd conjured to replace the mud, her bright smile and keen eyes made ancient memories of Mythal flash through his mind's eye. He'd glimpsed such jovialness from her when she played with her children, an all-too rare occurrence as she inevitably shunned her offspring as they aged and revealed they possessed a lesser magic talent than either parent. Even Evanuris were subject to the harshness of Elvhenan's magic-based class system.

Sensing his brooding, Rosa's brow furrowed. "Revas?"

Shaking his head, Solas pushed aside the dark swell of loss and grief—and responsibility—riding him. Forcing a smile, he said, "I'm tired, lethallan. Perhaps we might part ways for the night? I need my rest."

Rosa clucked her tongue. " _Ma nuvenin_ , flat-ear." She nodded to him, a warm smile playing over her lips. "Pleasant dreams to you, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."

Solas sighed, restraining his reaction to those words. "Thank you. Good night."

After Rosa had vanished from the dream and the weighty sensation of her in the Fade had diminished completely, Solas rubbed his face with both hands and groaned. _If you only knew the truth, Rosa._

* * *

 

The following morning found Solas assigned to clerical work within the library now that the mages supervising him had heard from the penmanship course teacher, Marene, that he could read superbly. Solas' every muscle ached with pain from overuse the previous day in Roth's physical conditioning class, making him move stiffly as he hauled books about. His morning was slow and tedious, moving books to shelves and then making notations in the library ledger regarding what was present and what wasn't.

The physical pain only seemed to exacerbate the emotional anguish he'd felt descend on him during the dream the night before. The library, no matter how much smaller and simpler, still reminded him painfully of the Elvhen halls of knowledge where Solas' father had worked. Solas had spent years of his childhood perusing the library, seeking out the most obscure knowledge he could and absorbing his father's proud praise later when he recited it at evening meals or bedtimes.

He remained silent and withdrawn at lunch, despite efforts by all three of his companions to draw him out. At supper, however, Varric insisted on a drinking game.

"Because you look like you need to get drunk, Chuckles— _badly,"_ the dwarf explained as he thumped down an earthenware carafe in the middle of the wooden long table. All four of them had the usual glass of wine provided to them for the evening meal, but somehow Varric had managed to work his charm on someone, likely a Tranquil, in the kitchen and acquire a full carafe.

Tal whistled. "I'm impressed, Varric."

Solas, meanwhile, scowled. "I can assure you, Master Tethras, inebriation will not help me in any way."

"Sure it will!" Varric pulled out his flask of whiskey and shook it, as if to check how much remained. Grunting at the full sound of its contents, he grinned and began unscrewing the cap. "I promise you'll love this game. It's not a competition and it's stupid simple. It's called _I Never._ We each take turns saying something we've never done. If anyone else in the game _has_ done it, they drink."

"No," Solas repeated. "I have no desire to—"

"Oh, c'mon," Rosa interrupted him, smirking with a glint of amusement in her violet eyes. "What harm can it do, Revas? You could totally use it and you know it. I watched you walk across the dining hall today and I can tell you're hurting more than a _shemlen_ after we play Fen'Harel's Teeth with them…" Her expression darkened with something hard and savage. "Assuming we don't _kill_ them after we're done playing it."

"Charming," Solas growled, glaring at her.

"Fen'Harel's Teeth?" Varric asked, arching an eyebrow. "What is—"

"Don't ask," Tal cut him off with a sheepish look as he reached for the wine carafe and tipped it to refill his glass to the top. "But I want to play, even if Revas refuses. This stew tonight is pretty nasty. Washing it down with a ton of wine sounds like a fabulous idea to me." He motioned to Varric. "Care to start?"

With a lopsided smile, Varric shrugged his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, as if warming up for a physical challenge. "Don't mind if I do." He fingered his flask a moment, his expression contemplative as the three elves watched him. Then, with a snap of his meaty fingers he said, "Ah-ha. I got one that'll do all three of you in for sure. I've never taken lyrium."

Tal immediately took a swallow of his wine and smacked his lips with enjoyment when he'd finished. "Guilty as charged."

But as the seconds passed and neither Solas nor Rosa made a move for their glasses, Varric lifted a brow in disbelief and gave a dry chuckle. "This only works if you're honest, you know."

"My clan didn't trade often enough with humans to bother keeping much lyrium," Rosa said with a shrug. "And I've never needed to use it."

"Huh," Varric said with a grunt and then gestured at Solas. "What about you, Chuckles?"

"I am not participating," Solas grumbled. As if to further emphasize his point he began shoveling more spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. A heartbeat later he felt a sharp pain in his shin and looked up with a frown when he realized Rosa had kicked him. " _Da'len_?" he asked her, shooting her a sour face.

" _Ir abelas_ , flat-ear," she said, smiling coyly. "I was trying to kick you free of the mud you seem to be stuck in."

Glaring at her, Solas slowly reached for his wineglass and took a deliberate sip, small and quick. Returning it to the table, he said, "You may choose to believe that is my answer if you wish."

"Sourpuss," she said with a snort. Turning slightly in her seat toward Varric, she said, "I'll go next because Tal wants to be the one drinking."

"Go for it," Varric said, smiling at her.

Gripping her chin in a thoughtful expression, Rosa hummed in the back of her throat before finally announcing, "I've never slept with a woman."

As before, Tal snatched his wineglass and drank almost instantly, slurping greedily on his now near-empty glass. "Don't know what you're missing, _asamalin,"_ he teased, grinning mischievously.

Varric raised one forefinger as if in objection, clearing his throat to ask, "Is that _elven_ women or just _female_?"

"Female," Rosa said, chuckling. "You really had to ask?"

"Yep," Varric said, also taking a generous sip from his flask. "Details are important, you know."

Now Rosa faced Solas, as did the other two, expectantly. Solas' brow furrowed as he finished swallowing his latest mouthful of food and sat back in his chair to slowly cross his arms over his chest. "I have said repeatedly I am not participating."

Rosa pointed at his wineglass. "You drink or I'm going to conclude you like men." Pausing a beat, her lips curled in a roguish grin. "Or you're a virgin."

Solas scowled, scoffing. "Really? Have we regressed to behaving like twelve-year-olds now? A game such as this should be enlightening, not juvenile. You are reaching for the lowest fruit on the tree, _da'len_."

Rosa laughed, violet eyes twinkling with amusement. "Seeing you get frazzled about this is _so_ worth it."

Tal and Varric both seemed to agree with her, sniggering under their breaths. Solas glowered at them both, still refusing to reach for his glass, but then Rosa leaned closer and spoke in a sultry voice as she asked, "So which is it? Men? Or are you a virgin after all, flat-ear?"

Huffing irritably, Solas grabbed his wineglass and took a sip, then returned his attention to his bowl of stew to resume eating.

"My turn," Tal said, holding his wineglass and sloshing the red fluid about with it in a circle as he said, "This one's for you, _asamalin._ I've never been betrothed."

Now Solas stared at Rosa with surprise as she sighed and grabbed her glass, taking a long sip from it. Setting it down again she made an irritated face in Tal's direction. "Happy, Tal?"

Her brother snickered. "Exceedingly." He elbowed Solas, who frowned at him with annoyance. "The look of shock on your face, _hahren_!"

Varric grunted with interest, turning to regard Rosa with a quizzical expression. "So, you were betrothed?" At her slow nod the dwarf said, "Huh. How did that work, exactly? He call it off or did you?"

"My Keeper did," she replied with a casual shrug, staring down at her stew bowl. "When she sent me away…because we had too many mages."

But of course that hadn't been the reason. Her pinched expression and downcast gaze made it clear she had no desire to continue discussing it. Watching her, Solas wondered if Rosa's betrothed had perished in the bandit attack on her clan or if he had simply stood by and watched as she walked away into the wilderness in exile. Either way, it made a sharp pain in his chest twist with sympathy.

"Bummer," Varric said, shaking his head. "Sorry to hear that. Doesn't seem fair." His brow knit as he looked between Rosa and Tal a moment and then said, "You know, I've been meaning to ask you two how you know each other but are from different clans."

"Met on the road," Tal said, smiling tightlipped. "But enough on that." Jerking his thumb toward Solas, he said, "It's your turn, Revas. Are you sure you don't want to play?"

Glancing between the Dalish siblings with resignation, Solas let out a breath as he said, "I've never worn vallaslin."

"Now who's going for low hanging fruit, flat-ear?" Rosa teased as she took a big gulp of her wine.

Tal, sitting beside Solas, did likewise and smacked his lips afterward, smiling smugly. "Me, I'll go again. I got one."

Varric laughed. "Go for it, Stoic." He motioned one meaty hand at the young elf encouragingly.

Tal leaned closer to the table, grinning at Rosa. "I'm going to get you _plastered_ , _asamalin."_

"Do your worst," Rosa taunted him, returning his grin with her own.

Still staring at her in playful challenge, Tal said, "I've never been First to the Keeper."

Rosa grunted and shrugged, taking another drink from her glass while Varric and Solas of course made no such move. When she'd finished the glass she set it down a little roughly and frowned. "Stuff tastes like the Dread Wolf's piss."

"All right," Varric said, shifting in his seat and rattling his flask to make it slosh. "My turn. And yes, I'll be going for the low-hanging fruit too, thank you very much. I've never slept with a man."

Tal snickered as he lifted his glass to his lips for yet another liberal sip of wine, emptying it and immediately reaching for the carafe of wine. "I think—" He broke off and hiccupped before finishing. "I should take two drinks for that one."

"Halla stags don't count, Tal," Rosa said with a snort as she too reached to refill her glass from the carafe and took a drink.

"That joke is _hilarious_ ," Tal told her sarcastically, making a disgusted face as he lifted his glass to his lips for a second drink. When he'd finished he nudged Solas with his elbow. "That wine isn't going to drink itself, Revas. C'mon now and be honest."

Solas frowned, eyeing the last bit of crimson liquid in his glass. His ear tips heated up with embarrassment as he felt the others' expectant gazes on him. _What a foolish, juvenile…_ He could lie, of course, but…Snatching the glass, he downed the last of the wine as casually as he could and then instantly returned to eating, hoping Rosa and the others would keep their ribbing to a minimum.

"I _knew_ it," Rosa said, laughing in a way that could almost be described as cackling. "Can't be too picky when you're a lonely wandering apostate, eh?"

Varric laughed as he spoke in an aside to Tal, "Maybe there's hope for you and Chuckles after all, Stoic." As Solas scowled and did his best to ignore their antics, Tal winked at Varric and snickered under his breath only to feign innocence when Solas shot him a glare.

"All right," Rosa said, flexing her hands out to crack the knuckles. "It's my turn now and Tal, you have this coming for picking on me earlier." She laid a hand on her chest, straightening her spine and clearing her throat. "I've never been hogtied and pelted with halla dung."

Solas arched an eyebrow with surprise.

Tal sucked in a breath through his teeth, his lips quirking as he reached for his glass. "Ouch. Yeah, that sucked." He tossed back what was left in his glass and returned it to the table a bit harder than was necessary, thwacking the wood with the base.

Varric grimaced. "Sounds like there's a story there. I'd ask, but…"

"Nah," Tal said, waving a hand sloppily in Varric's direction. His brown eyes were a tad glazed over with the first effects of his liberal drinking. "I don't mind telling it. See, it was during the Arlathvhen and my father had just been chased off by the other Keepers for being a smartass or something and—"

Rosa made a dry, grunting noise in the back of her throat, interrupting him. "Tal…" she said, the note of warning unmistakable in her voice. Her violet eyes were dark, flashing with warning.

Solas peered at her, intrigued despite his earlier sullenness. What was she trying to hide? Tal _did_ seem perilously close to revealing that he and Rosa were siblings and not merely traveling companions—though Solas suspected Varric had already guessed as much. The dwarf seemed to be too socially savvy to have missed the unacknowledged familial connection between these two. He also likely knew better than to reveal or guess at it because the Circle would split the siblings if it found out.

Tal blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled back at her. To Varric he said, "My Keeper over there says I can't tell the story. Dalish secrecy and shit." He jerked his thumb at Rosa and frowned grumpily. "Sorry."

"That's okay," Varric said with an easy shrug. "I think I get it anyway. You had a rough time with your clan, Stoic."

"It wasn't so bad before my father left," Tal said, sniffing as he fingered his wineglass. Across the table, Rosa shook her head sharply, making a face of disapproval and Solas didn't miss the way Tal's brown eyes flew briefly to her at the motion, but he seemed determined to ignore her as he went on, "I wanted to go out and find him for years, but he doesn't have time for me—even now." He scoffed before slurping again on his glass.

Solas frowned, cocking his head to one side. Hadn't Tal told him that his father was dead? Glancing toward Rosa, who wore a taut expression and stared at her brother with an irritated look, Solas debated saying nothing for a heartbeat. Before he could make up his mind, however, Varric did it for him. "Didn't you say your father had passed away, Stoic?"

Tal stared at he the dwarf, his mouth ajar a beat before his brow furrowed with bemusement. "Uh…" He broke off and snickered, lifting his glass in a toast. "Yep. And so he is. Falon'Din guide his soul and all that."

Solas chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling at the drunken youth's poor attempt to cover up his error. Varric, apparently unoffended by realizing Tal had lied to them, shook his head and flashed a lopsided smile. "I think you've had entirely too much to drink."

"Truer words have never been said," Rosa grumbled, heaving a sigh as she rested her elbow on the wooden table and then used her palm to support her chin.

"Well," Solas said, smiling and letting a note of smugness enter his voice. "I feel rather vindicated. This foolish game was your attempt to inebriate me, Child of the Stone, but it appears to have backfired rather spectacularly as I am the least intoxicated of all of us." He ticked the edge of a blunt nail against his empty wineglass for further emphasis.

"That's only because Violet and Stoic decided to turn against each other," Varric said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And honestly, I think I drank less often than you did, Chuckles."

Solas was about to protest that he had a massive advantage in height and therefore likely could drink more and be less affected, but then a mage shouted from the door to dismiss the apprentices from dinner. The three elves bid Varric farewell for the night and soon Solas found himself accepting Rosa's proffered arm—ostensibly for physical support. They walked a tad crooked or unsteadily, having consumed more alcohol than usual at dinner with the game, but not enough to have truly disrupted their locomotion.

As they walked together, Solas noticed that Tal had slipped back to walk with the same young elven apprentices as he usually did. The youth's face was red, flushed from the wine and bright as he laughed with his companions. _Ah,_ he thought. _To be young and carefree._ Even in the Circle, Tal apparently could be easygoing and untroubled. Had there ever been a time Solas had not been troubled?

"You're brooding," Rosa said at his side as they rounded the corner and exited the dining hall. "What's eating you, flat-ear?"

Solas started to shake his head, to dismiss her concerns, but a glint and a flash of movement down the hall drew his attention then. Rosa noticed it too, her head swiveling toward the disturbance as they saw two Templars plodding their way through the crowded hall, shoving apprentices aside. They ignored glares from the young magic users around them, unafraid and brusque with their authority. They both wore helmets, making them impossible to read, but seeing them made Solas' stomach clench. He _knew_ in his gut that they had come for Rosa.

She seemed to guess it too as her hand found his and squeezed it tightly, the palm sweaty. _"Thank you for helping me,"_ she said in elven, whispering roughly as her violet eyes flicked between him and the approaching Templars. _"If I am killed or made Tranquil—watch Tal."_ Her gaze drilled into him then, sudden and fiery and fierce with need. "Promise me?"

" _Ma nuvenin,_ I promise," he said quickly. Licking his lips, he added, "I will help you if I can."

The Templars reached them and as Solas and Rosa parted, stepping away from one another and hoping to give way so the men could pass by, one of the men said, "Apprentice Rosa?"

She jutted out her chin, clenching her jaw as her eyes flashed with defiance. "Yes?"

Solas recognized the Templar closest to himself, seeing Ser Bartholomew's familiar brown eyes through the slot in his helmet. He tried to let the knowledge that Bartholomew hadn't been excessively cruel or abusive calm his thundering heart and the cold fear clutching at his throat. Apprentices continued to file past, but more than a few had stopped to stare, glaring or gawking. Tal was one of them, standing behind Solas and Rosa, stiff with tension and pallid with his fear.

The other Templar accompanying Bartholomew seemed unfamiliar as he stepped forward with his hand over his sword hilt. "The Knight-Commander has summoned you for questioning. Will you come willingly?"

Rosa's eyes slid over both Templars, assessing them with cold fury. "Looks like I don't have much choice." She shrugged. "Sure."

The unfamiliar Templar jerked his head at Bartholomew. "Lead the way." With a stern nod, Bartholomew turned on his heel, starting down the hall as his companion snatched Rosa by the arm and jerked her with him. She bared her teeth with what Solas took to be both pain and quiet rage as he dragged her away. The apprentices in the hall parted, staring or cringing backward.

Just before the Templars reached the stairwell to descend lower toward the Knight-Commander's office, Rosa tossed a last look over her shoulder. Her eyes moved between Solas and Tal for that last split second, willing him to remember his promise.

Solas vowed to himself that he would do more than that.

As soon as Rosa had vanished down the stairwell with her captors Tal stumbled forward to his side, his breath rough and unsteady. "We have to _do_ something, Revas!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

Solas nodded. "I fully intend to." Shooting Tal a sidelong look, he said, "Do they provide you with lyrium in any of your courses? Do you know where it would be stored?"

Tal's expression brightened. "Yes." He leaned close, his breath smelling of wine as they started to walk together toward the barracks. "I will sneak out after lights out and bring it to you."

 _That will have to do,_ Solas thought and nodded. "My thanks." Then, clasping the younger elf's arm, he tried to reassure him. "We will ensure her safely through whatever trial awaits, lethallin."

Tal nodded at him; his smile tightlipped and his eyes dark though they crinkled with what Solas took to be real emotion—affection. " _Ma serannas_." He paused a beat, squeezing Solas' hand on his arm. " _Falon_."

Solas smiled at him. " _Falon._ "

* * *

Elven Used (all props to FenxShiral!)

 _Falon:_ meaning "friend." Only used with true friends, rather than casual acquaintances.

 _Asamalin/Isamalin:_ Sister/Brother

 _Lenalin:_ meaning "male parent."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Did you kill Ser Curtis?" one of the Templars behind Ser Ginger asked in a gruff voice.

 _They certainly waste no time getting to the point,_ she thought. Instead of answer she closed her eyes and felt within herself for her core, as bright and shocking as the torch one of her captors had brought into the utter darkness of her cell. The Fade brushed against her as well, beckoning with the promise of sleep. Within it she could feel Rogathe, pressing against the Veil, sensing her. Waiting.

* * *

Author's note: As you can see, starting next chapter, Rosa will provide narration sometimes. She has a lot of secrets, so I use her narration sparingly at first, but as her point of view enters the picture you will catch more and more clues. There's a LOT Solas still doesn't know about her and Tal. A lot that I hope will surprise you, too!


	14. Rosa Stands Accused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas: I will remember this. When it is over.  
> Blackwall: This? This war? The Inquisition?  
> Solas: The people. How you fought against the tide. It is…courageous.
> 
> Solas and Tal try to help Rosa. Meanwhile, Rosa endures 36 hours of sleep deprivation, hunger, and thirst. Solas touches base with one of his most important agents for the first time since waking from uthenera and learns of an interesting cult starting in Tevinter.

Solas remained awake after lights out in the apprentice barracks, sitting upright in his cot in the darkness and waiting for Tal to bring him lyrium. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms were coated in sticky sweat. Repeatedly he touched his mana core, brushing over it like a man checking his blade for nicks and cracks. Unfortunately he felt virtually nothing within, as usual. That place inside him, which had been overflowing and thrumming all his life previously, now ached with hollow emptiness.

Lyrium was a crutch for weaker mages. Solas had only used it during the heaviest battles during the Evanuris civil war and his own rebellion. He'd aided Mythal when she attacked and killed a Titan to mine its blood and distribute to her people, but he and the other Evanuris had almost never touched the stuff. But now…what choice did he have?

His memories of imbibing in the substance were less than pleasant. It had an effect far worse than alcohol on his physical form, making him clumsy in the immediate aftermath of drinking it. In his first experience consuming it, Solas had been unprepared for its effects and could not physically aid his fellow Evanuris in subduing Falon'Din. Instead, he had acted as a reserve of mana to the others, letting them draw from him like a living foci. Mythal had intentionally allowed him to make such an error, as a way to humble and humiliate him into remaining subservient to her. It had acted as a reminder that he needed her guidance and training to reach his full potential. Solas had heeded that, though with more than a little teeth gnashing at his wounded pride.

Would it still affect him similarly? Would it strengthen his connection to the Fade and enhance his magic or just make him lose his grip on the physical plane? Could he take that risk or was it wiser to ask Tal to drink the lyrium and then draw from him?

 _But Tal cannot reshape the Fade,_ Solas thought and scowled through the dark. Mana wasn't what he needed now. It was the Fade.

His thoughts splintered and broke off as he heard the door to the apprentice barracks creak slightly and saw the faintest shadow moving against the darkness toward his bunk. Despite the direness of the situation, Solas smiled at how stealthy young Tal was. It was uncanny, almost as if he knew the forgotten stealth magic of—

"I've got them," Tal whispered, ducking into the tight space of Solas' cot. With a wave of his hand Solas heard a slight _whump_ noise and felt the tingle of magic work over his skin. Tal had cast a sound deadening spell over them to ensure none could overhear. Only then did Tal pull the slender blue glowing vials from his pockets. "It's tiny doses," he explained. "From Varian's course."

Solas took one of the vials, feeling over it. The blue glow peeked between his fingers, pricking his eyes with its intensity. "Thank you," Solas said. He wondered where this had been stored and how far Tal had had to wander to get it, miraculously evading Templar patrols. "How many did you bring?"

"Four," Tal answered.

Slow with caution, Solas unstoppered the vial and the rich, heady scent of Titan blood made him dizzy already with memory. "Leave two with me and take two for yourself," Solas instructed, deciding he needed to cover all angles. He might need to draw magic from Tal in the Fade. "Drink them and sleep. I will draw you into my dream."

"Then what?" Tal asked, his face lit by the blue glow.

"Then I will do whatever I can to aid Rosa."

Tal nodded. "See you in the Fade," he said and left the cot. The sound-deadening spell ended with him, the caress of magic evaporating. With it, Solas heard the gentle breathing of the other apprentices and the quiet tap of Tal's bare feet as he returned to his cot. A second later he saw the blue glow as Tal produced his own lyrium bottles. The light disappeared quickly, indicating Tal had consumed it and bedded down to sleep.

Drawing in a deep breath and shutting his eyes tight, Solas raised the vial to his lips and downed it like a shot of potent alcohol in two swallows. The taste was sharp and biting, the liquid unnaturally warm and thick. It seemed to tickle as it flowed down his esophagus and curdle in his stomach. Heat spread through him and his head went light. His limbs seemed to go hollow, his muscles numb. Recalling ancient lessons from Mythal, Solas concentrated on the sensation of breathing, on the feeling of his clothing brushing over his skin to ground himself in the physical plane just a moment longer.

Blinking blearily, Solas struggled to pull out the cork from the next vial and lifted it to his mouth—only to feel the cold touch of the glass against his left cheek. _Fenedhis._ He was apparently still badly affected by the stuff despite the Veil and his own weakness. With his other hand, shaking and unsteady, he pushed the vial to his lips and tipped it up.

Now euphoria flooded him and he groaned, collapsing onto his cot as his body's strength seemed to give out. His head spun, his spirit seeming to rise from his body and hover somewhere a few inches above. The Fade opened wide like a hungry maw, ready to swallow him whole.

And in that last instant when he was still distantly aware of the apprentice barracks around him, Solas felt his mana core ignite like sparks meeting dry tinder.

* * *

Solas opened his eyes and laughed with elation and relief. The raw Fade waited around him: green mists swirling about slimy pools, black-gray rocks and statues of Andraste littered the swampy plain. Wisps darted about a few meters out, curious but cautious, drawn to the weakened Veil of the Hasmal Circle tower.

Inside himself, Solas felt the fullness of mana and closed his eyes with pleasure at its warmth and satisfaction. It was as if he had been starving, hungry for days on end but never dying. Now, miraculously, he'd been fed and had a full belly. The gnawing emptiness inside had at last abated.

Reaching out with one arm toward the nearest clump of weeds, Solas clenched his hand into a fist as he summoned winter's grasp and grinned as ice and frost instantly formed over it. His mana core rippled inside him, like a muscle stretching, sending pleasure flowing through him. He'd felt the impact of the spell, but it wasn't enough to drain him.

As wonderful as this was, Solas knew it wasn't the result he truly wanted. Relaxing his shoulders, he closed his eyes and dipped his chin to his chest as he reached outward with his inner senses. The Fade connected somewhere inside him, touching his core and awaiting his will. Solas concentrated on imagining Tal: the sound of his laughter from dinner, his playful nature and stealth as he'd moved through the dark.

The Fade changed around him, the sensation washing over him with a wave of dizziness—but no pain. Opening his eyes, Solas saw the young elf standing a few paces away, stiff and wringing his hands together in front of himself. He showed no sign of shock when Solas appeared before him, merely nodded in greeting. "Revas," he said.

"Tal," Solas answered back with a dip of his chin as he took in the changed Fade, which had reacted to the young elf's presence. They stood in a small clearing at the edge of a steep, rocky slope leading upward. Pine trees grew tall and proud around them. "The Frostbacks?" Solas asked.

Tal nodded, still wringing his hands. "Where I met Rosa last year, before we both set out for the Free Marches." He sighed. "The last place I saw my clan."

Solas started to answer and then winced as he felt the Fade shiver around them. Tal seemed to have noticed it as well, pivoting about to look around, his brown eyes wide. "What was that?"

Solas didn't answer for a moment as he felt the heavy weight of another Dreamer and took in a sharp breath as his eyes found an unclear shadow a few meters away in the shade of an enormous pine. "Rosa?" he called out, certain it must be her.

The figure moved slightly, perhaps looking in his direction, but it was impossible to be certain. Tal, finally registering the shape and the presence as well, darted forward and shouted, _"Asamalin!"_

But the form lost coherency and vanished into mists before Tal could reach it. His shoulders slumped as he surveyed the dreamscape and saw no trace of her. "Creators damn it."

Solas had closed his eyes again, trying to draw Rosa to them if she was present in the Fade. He imagined her coy smile, the pride and defiance in her stance as she faced off with Ser Jeremy, and the musical quality of her voice. The Fade seemed to strain, wanting to acquiesce, but when Solas opened his eyes he saw no sign of her, though the Fade _had_ changed. Now it became the stone walls of the Circle, where Tal and Solas stood in the dining room where wisps had formed into mages, all eating and chattering as they tried to recreate reality.

Solas let out a breath of frustration and started to turn to address Tal when he realized one of the spirits that'd adopted vague shapes to fill the chairs in the dining hall wasn't like the others. It was white and sat where Rosa usually sat in reality when they ate meals. Now, as Solas stared at it, the spirit rose to its feet and hopped over the table, lithe and graceful exactly as Rosa had been when she had done the same once.

"Pride," it greeted him in a disembodied, echoing voice that was clearly a mimic of Rosa's. It stood erect and stiff, crossing its arms over its chest. "We meet again."

Tal, standing several meters away and still spinning to take in the dining room, now stared between Solas and the spirit. "Is this…?"

"Rogathe," Solas said, smiling tightly in greeting. "A pleasure to see you again, although I wish it was under different circumstances."

"You are afraid for Rosa," Rogathe said, motioning toward him and then to Tal as well. "And you share the same fear."

"She was taken by Templars," Solas explained. "I believe they are investigating Ser Curtis' death and feel she is responsible. My hope is to touch the dreams of those who decide her fate and convince them she was not involved."

"Rosa was already doing that," Tal said, striding up to Solas' side. He shook his head, wearing a look of worry and consternation. "I don't understand why they would've taken her."

"There are times when no amount of subtle manipulation through dreams can prevent such actions," Solas told Tal. "It may also be possible they suspect her involvement through blood magic or—"

"These _shemlen_ know nothing of what she can do," Tal snarled, cutting a sideways slash with his hand in dismissal of Solas' points.

"Perhaps," Solas hedged. "But we must assume the worst until proven otherwise." Pinching his lips together, he considered a moment, eyeing Rogathe's brilliant light as the spirit regarded them, arms still crossed over its chest. He hummed in his throat. "If we are Templars and we suspect an apprentice of murder using blood magic or something else rare and deadly, what course of action do we take to establish guilt?"

"They are cowards," Rogathe snarled. "But Rosa remains unbroken and unbowed. She has not called out to me, though I have felt her enter the Fade several times."

"We just saw her a moment ago," Tal added, pointing to the stone wall where the pine tree had stood before the dreamscape transformed. "Do you think they drugged her to keep her out of the Fade?"

"Possibly," Solas said. "But I doubt it. Such arts have been lost to all save the Dalish and some Tevinter scholars." _And survivors from Elvhenan, such as myself._

"They are cowards," Rogathe repeated, sounding angrier this time. "They will use tactics befitting the bullies they are."

Solas nodded, smiling tightly at the spirit with approval. "I believe you are right. They may wish to keep her from the Fade, but more likely they simply hope to wear her down with sleep-deprivation. That is why we saw her shadow and sensed her so briefly. She has not been blocked from the Fade, merely prevented from sleeping."

"But why?" Tal asked, his lips curling with a snarl.

"Because they lack the courage to fight her!" Rogathe growled.

Ignoring Rogathe's simpleminded bluster, Solas added a different interpretation. "They will hope to extract a confession."

Tal's expression warped with concern and he began wringing his hands in front of himself again. "Is there any way we can help her if that's the case?"

"Not you, unfortunately," Solas murmured, frowning. "But Rogathe and I can, yes. As she tires her mind will partly cross the Veil while still awake. We may watch her directly then and communicate with her—bolster her resolve should she weaken."

" _Shemlen_ bastards,"Tal said, hands clenching into fists at his side. "They're going to torture her."

"Rosa will defeat them," Rogathe said, sounding confident. "When she needs me, she will call and I will aid her. Together we will rend them asunder, scatter their essence to the Void. Then we will part the stone walls of the tower and find you both in the waking world and—"

Tal interrupted the spirit with a snort. "Part the walls? Scatter their essence?"

"You doubt me?" Rogathe asked, bristling. It took a threatening step forward. Ready to face off with Tal.

Stepping to intervene, Solas held up a palm to Rogathe. "He meant no offense, _elgar._ Tal does not understand the Fade as you and I do and does not comprehend your meaning."

Rogathe shot Solas a skeptical glance but then seemed to nod with agreement. "Yes, he is young and foolish. We must protect him, Rosa and I."

Tal scoffed, shaking his head but fortunately saying nothing to further rile the spirit.

" _Ma serannas,_ " Solas told it with a polite smile. Relaxing and drawing back a step, Solas said, "Tal and I must set to the task at hand. Rogathe, would you do us the favor of watching for Rosa and seeking us out should she come to the Fade more permanently?"

"Of course," Rogathe said.

As Solas bid the spirit goodbye and refocused on Tal, he felt a wave of dizziness set the dreamscape swirling about him. Grimacing, he said, "Tal, I may need to draw strength from you. Mana, specifically."

Tal stared at him, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with a tense, somber concern. "Whatever you need, Revas, I will help you. I won't lose my sister. Not now."

Solas managed to draw up a reassuring smile. "At least we can take comfort in knowing Rosa is stubborn enough that she will not break any time soon."

* * *

In the darkness of her cell, Rosa had no way to tell when night transitioned to day. Her body told her with its hunger that it must be close to daybreak, but that could have been misleading because the Templars had kept her awake all night with a constant vigil.

They'd left her chained to the wall in the dark, her hands bound together with the cold iron shackles. When she even thought about magic she saw blue runes light up over the shackles and chains and realized they'd been set there to nullify magic and prevent her from using her powers to escape. Every few minutes a Templar would march down the hallway outside her cell and reach in to shake her awake. She frequently gasped and shot upright, drawing as far away as she could—never far enough that they couldn't reach her thanks to the short chain on her shackles. The light of their torches was the only thing for her to see by.

Endless dreary hours passed this way. Sleep called to her repeatedly and she would just begin to touch the Fade when the Templar would waken her again. She cursed under her breath and vowed to gut each guard who woke her.

Eventually sleep grew more distant to her mind as hunger gnawed on her instead. Her stomach seemed ready to wear a hole in itself, twisting and clenching inside her. The thought of asking the Templars for food swam through her mind repeatedly, but she dismissed it. She was Dalish—the last Elvhen. She would not beg or plead and she would never break. She and Tal had endured five days with minimal food and water immediately after being brought to the tower, after all. But enduring with Tal had been far easier than managing on her own.

Still, Rosa knew she would do it.

And then, at long last, a change in the usual routine. A trio of Templar guards appeared at her cell with a torch that made her eyes stream with moisture at its blinding brightness. They entered her cell and one of them—the redhead who'd had the gambling problem and protected Revas—unlocked her chains and ordered her to use the chamber pot along the opposite wall. Rosa did as they'd ordered, eager to relieve her bladder and wholly uncaring that the Templars would see a bit of her leg when she hiked up her robe and squatted.

When she'd finished Ser Ginger offered her a water skin and a dry loaf of bread. But when she reached for it, he pulled back and clucked his tongue.

"A few questions first," he said and Rosa snarled at him, readying herself to go without the food or water. She'd dock her ears before she submitted.

"Did you kill Ser Curtis?" one of the Templars behind Ser Ginger asked in a gruff voice.

 _They certainly waste no time getting to the point,_ she thought. Instead of answer she closed her eyes and felt within herself for her core, as bright and shocking as the torch one of her captors had brought into the utter darkness of her cell. The Fade brushed against her as well, beckoning with the promise of sleep. Within it she could feel Rogathe, pressing against the Veil, sensing her. Waiting.

"Answer the question," Ser Ginger snapped.

"No," she growled, deciding she could at least tell them that much.

"Have you ever practiced blood magic?" the gruff-voiced Templar asked.

"No," she repeated, rolling her eyes.

"She's lying," the Templar with the torch muttered. "Filthy knife-ear."

Ser Ginger grunted and fumbled with something at his waist, pulling out a small trinket on a chain. As it swung to and fro, Rosa recognized it and suddenly felt nauseous. It was her pendant, meant to bind Rogathe within her and keep it controlled. "Care to tell us what this is, wretch?"

It was blood magic, albeit a harmless and simple spell. Her Keeper had aided her, showing her what to say and do. The raven feathers had been chosen for their ties to Dirthamen, the Creator Rosa had dedicated herself to with her vallaslin. Her Keeper had sliced her own fingers to supply the blood for the spell, wary and reluctant but resigned that she must make the pendant. She'd forbidden Rosa from actually casting the spell because they both knew it would weaken her connection to the Fade. Her Keeper hoped that if Rosa maintained a strong connection to the Fade as a Dreamer it would one day allow Rogathe to return to the Beyond. Her foresight had proven correct, but now it seemed the spell would damn Rosa anyway.

"There's a spell on this," Ginger said. "But the First Enchanter can't identify it. If _he_ can't identify it…"

"Must be blood magic," the gruff-voiced Templar said. "That's the only shite the First Enchanter don't know."

Sweating and with her exhaustion and hunger forgotten with the cold grip of fear, Rosa snorted. "Idiots. I'm _Dalish._ We remember all kinds of spells you _shemlen_ have forgotten."

"Rubbish," the torchbearer said. "She's not ready to talk, yet, Ser Bartholomew. Chain her back up."

"Agreed," Ginger said and twisted to pass the water skin and bread loaf back to the gruff-voiced Templar. A moment later he approached Rosa, stiff and ready for a fight.

Baring her teeth at him and with her hands clenching into fists, Rosa let herself be dragged back to the shackles and secured. As the Templars left, taking their light and the food and water with them, Rosa sighed and pressed her forehead to the cold stone in front of her. Shaking the shackles a bit to rattle the chain, she considered her options and found, of course, that none of them would truly work. Still, it was a pleasing distraction to plot out how she would summon Fade rock and smash her restraints, then call Rogathe into her and escape in a torrent of carnage and Templar blood.

But she knew she wouldn't actually manage to escape and even if she could make it, she'd never be able to leave without Tal and Revas. Even if she'd wanted to take the despicable and selfish route of abandoning them, Rogathe would not allow it. She would die; assaulting the whole tower until eventually mana burnout rendered her a shaking, pathetic mess that the Templars could easily slay.

Worst of all, if she actually _did_ die in that spectacular fashion the Templars would investigate both Tal and Revas next.

 _I brought this on myself—on Tal and Revas, too._ It was her fault, her foolishness that'd put her here, as much as she wanted to blame the Templars. To release Rogathe from herself she'd sought out Curtis in the Fade and set herself against him in the arena of dreams. She let him attack her with his fists, with his words. She let herself face his depravity and cruelty without flinching from it and then had conjured a sword for him from Fade ether and demanded that he fight her. It was just a dream, after all. They could not harm one another and she could always manipulate him afterward to instill a deep, primal fear of her into his sub-conscious…

But when she struck him down with her magic something strange happened. His sleeper self had not vanished as she expected, but had scattered like a spirit. Glimmering white-green, it shot off into the Fade and disappeared as if a wisp had taken his form all along. Rosa had thought nothing of it at the time, especially when she had also felt Rogathe slip out of her body almost immediately afterward. But the next day when she and Tal were hauled to the Knight-Commander's office and she began to suspect she'd made a terrible mistake.

And then Revas had seemed so certain she had killed Curtis that she realized he _knew_ what had happened, somehow. She wanted to ask him, to probe him for whatever secrets he knew, but he'd been cagey and evasive. Utterly useless and holding back something, as always.

There was nothing she could do about it now. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for whatever was to come.

* * *

"Where's Violet?" Varric asked at lunch when Solas and Tal sat down together on their side of the table opposite the dwarf. His brown eyes narrowed and his brows arched with concern as he must have taken in the sullen mood from both elves.

"Templars took her," Tal answered, shoulders sinking. He had a pallid skin tone after the long night he'd spent as Solas' Fade-walking companion and backup mana reserves. He'd been dogged in his resolve to help, though it was clearly taxing for him, as Solas dragged him from one sleeper's dream to the next.

Solas, meanwhile, felt rejuvenated. For the first time since waking from uthenera he'd felt magic swirl in his core and altered the Fade substantially without hesitation or pain. Even his body seemed recovered, with only a slight ache from his overuse of muscles the last few days. His mind, however, was foggy and his thoughts scattered. Drawing magic strength from Tal had let Solas taste the younger man's mana in a way he'd not been able to before just being near his spells and the experience had been…odd. Invigorating, of course, but also…familiar. He'd expected elves in this post-Veil world to be somehow different from their Elvhen ancestors, but Tal's magic felt the same.

"Why would they take her?" Varric asked, shaking his head in consternation, though there was also a glint of worry in his eyes.

Tal shot Solas a sidelong look, apparently seeking help or permission and deferring to him now that Rosa wasn't here. Solas took the initiative and explained, "The Templar who died under unusual circumstances a few days ago was not on friendly terms with her. I suspect they have run out of clues and hope to uncover more by broadening their search."

"The guy was a real asshole," Tal put in, snarling. At Varric's raised eyebrow in silent question, he elaborated. "He groped Rosa. Bullied her. Threatened her." Tal motioned at Solas and toward Rosa's empty seat. "The three of us were involved in a complaint against him just before he died."

Varric's jaw clenched. "Well…shit." Glancing toward Rosa's seat off to his right, he sighed. "I hope she's okay and can convince the Templars she had nothing to do with it." He rubbed one meaty hand over his face. "I can't help but feel like this is somehow my fault. They probably think it's blood magic because I knew a Dalish blood mage—though Daisy wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Is the Seeker responsible for my s—" Tal broke off, scowling. Solas kept his expression deadpan, hoping to disguise Tal's near admission of his familial relationship with Rosa. Eventually Tal started over again. "Is the Seeker the one who ordered Rosa be taken in, do you think?"

Varric was still stroking at his chin, his expression contemplative. "Could be," he admitted with a shrug. "I'll see what I can find out and let you know."

Tal let out a breath, nodding as he poked at his sandwich, his body language despondent. Solas nodded to the dwarf with appreciation. "My thanks, Master Tethras. The Templars of this Circle have proven mostly fair in my experience—short of a few, including the man who died. We can only hope that they will come to the obvious conclusion that Rosa could not possibly be responsible."

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "Since we're locked in our barracks every night. I mean, seriously. How could anyone believe she could have killed him?" He glared down at his food and muttered, "Not that he didn't deserve it."

Under the table, Solas dug his heel into Tal's shin, making the younger elf squirm and huff at the hidden rebuke.

"Yeah," Varric agreed, his eyes glazing slightly and his lips quirking downward. He dug into his vest and pulled out his whiskey flask. "I can believe it. Hawke and I saw plenty of Templar abuse in Kirkwall and since the guy who died was a transfer from there…" He grimaced and took a long swig from his whiskey.

After lunch had concluded Solas walked with Tal, laying plans for a repeat of the previous night's exploits. Solas, still assigned to the library on clerical duty, planned to slip off into a quiet room and drift off into the Fade to search for Rosa during the day as often as he could manage without arousing suspicion. Then they would steal more lyrium for tonight and reenter the Fade together.

Tal looked exhausted at the prospect, but when Solas questioned him the young man insisted he would endure. "Whatever I can do to help her, I will," he said, his face fierce with devotion. "Ever since we met at the last Arlathvhen, she's been the one to protect me. I want to help her for a change."

Solas smiled at him. "Then that is what we will do, _falon_."

Tal beamed at him, his bright brown eyes and warm smile seeming to burn away his despondency. " _Falon_ ," he echoed.

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light in the hall, poorly lit as it was, but in that moment Solas felt a wave of dizziness and déjà vu disorient him. Tal reminded Solas forcefully of some of Mythal's children and grandchildren—young, eager to please, keenly intelligent, charismatic, and guileless. Solas had spent a century or so training a handful of them while he served Mythal as a general. Many of those children had grown up to join his cause and oppose the nobility.

Solas gripped Tal's arm harder, breathing deeply and blinking to try and shake off the strange sensation. For a heartbeat he'd sworn he was back in the brilliant white stones of Mythal's noble estate, walking through the narrow corridor leading to her crystal gardens with one of his students. The temporal distortion—losing his sense of the present—had him suddenly bathed in sweat and breathing hard enough that Tal immediately noticed his distress.

"What's wrong, Revas?"

"The lyrium," Solas ground out through gnashed teeth as he slowly refocused on the present. That was what was wrong. He hadn't yet recovered from the effects.

"Drink lots of water," Tal advised. "It helps." He patted Solas' hand as they reached the dogleg in the corridor where they'd part ways for the afternoon. "I'll see you tonight."

"Likewise," Solas answered with a nod, swallowing as the world around him seemed to re-solidify. He shambled his way down the hall, following the other apprentices who had to travel this way for their classes or chores, hugging the wall so he could reach out and support himself should he need it.

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed and hoped tonight wouldn't be so bad. But, as a positive, at least he could still feel a slim bubbling of mana in his core, warm and secure. With luck that would remain inside him long after he'd recovered from the effects of the lyrium.

In the library, Solas quickly catalogued and replaced several books that'd been returned while he was away at lunch and then slipped into one of the empty classrooms on the second level. Closing the door, he settled into a desk near the back of the room where it was darkest and lay his head down on the wooden surface. It smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and musty wood, a pleasant scent.

In only a few moments his eyes grew heavy and the Fade drew him in like a welcoming lover. As with the previous night, Solas opened his eyes to the raw Fade, a clear sign that his connection to it was stronger than it had been since he'd arrived at the Circle. Closing his eyes, he imagined Rosa—her scent of lilac and vanilla, her melodic voice, her keen violet eyes. He felt the Fade twist around him, trying to draw her to him, but it seemed to bounce back, finding nothing.

Sighing, Solas opened his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the raw Fade around him. Slimy Fade rocks jutted out of the tawny sand a few meters out of reach. Water trickled, condensing from the air itself into oily puddles. A statue of Andraste stood off to his far right, the cold gray stone in pristine condition despite the water dripping over its surface. The ancient rebel woman had her arms held up in supplication to the Maker, but in the Fade it appeared as though she was beseeching the Black City.

Solas wrinkled his nose with disgust at the thought. There'd been plenty of elves in Elvhenan who'd done exactly that. He could still remember the chants of the elves, singing in obeisance and praise to the Evanuris in their Golden City high overhead among the clouds.

Now that city was their prison and the Evanuris' own power fueled the Veil.

With his thoughts turning back to his cause as Dread Wolf, Solas again closed his eyes and reached out for the Fade with his mind. This time the woman he conjured in his mind wasn't Rosa. He envisioned her brown eyes, brown hair, and smooth cinnamon skin as well as the taste of her mouth and the sound of her voice as she called his Evanuris name: "Fen'Harel enansal."

This time when the Fade twisted and reworked itself around him Solas felt the heavy presence of another Dreamer and smiled with triumph as he opened his eyes to see the woman he'd been thinking of: Zevanni.

Zevanni was lean and supple, small-bodied but muscular. Her hair was tied up in a tight topknot, but her features were shadowy, as was her overall form. Even so, Solas could tell she wore leather armor and a bandanna, plain and unremarkable, as she circled around a man slumped on the tawny grass and sand at their feet. The man wore the blue and gray armor of a Grey Warden and, unlike Zevanni, his form in the Fade was crystal clear. The Fade had changed to reflect Zevanni's dream or her current whereabouts—which would be Tevinter as of a few months ago. Solas saw tall grasses swaying and felt a hot breeze caress his skin. Off in the hazy distance he saw the gray-green of olive trees.

Sensing his presence, Zevanni looked up. " _Hahren,_ " she greeted him, her voice muffled and warped. She raised a hand toward him in a _stop_ gesture and then spoke in hushed elven. _"Please, come no closer without reshaping your form."_ Indicating the Grey Warden with a jerk of her chin, she said, _"We must hide our appearances from this one."_

Solas nodded, his heart flushing warm with pride at Zevanni's dedication. He'd sent her to Tevinter after she'd woken from uthenera a few months prior with orders to seek knowledge and ancient relics, anything that might help their cause while he tried to plot their next move. She'd been as weak as he physically, but she'd been obedient and determined, reaching Tevinter less than a month after waking and setting to work. The last he'd spoken with her, Zevanni had said she'd heard rumors of a Tevinter cult with interesting, ancient knowledge. Now it seemed she had a new clue—the Grey Wardens. Curiosity bubbled inside Solas' chest.

Willing himself to change shape, Solas envisioned Ser Bartholomew and let the Templar's appearance settle over him like a blanket before he strode closer to Zevanni. _"What have you learned?"_ he asked her in elven, eyeing the slumped Grey Warden.

The bandanna over Zevanni's mouth moved and Solas could tell by the shape of her eyes that she grinned. _"This little bird has been seduced by the song of a Darkspawn magister. You know, one of the original seven who slaughtered hundreds of elven slaves to open a portal to the Anor Din'Venuralas."_ Zevanni used the mocking term all of Fen'Harel's agents used when referring to _Anor'Venuralas,_ the "Golden City."

Solas' brows shot up into his forehead and his eyes sprang wide with surprise. Few things could shock him after such a long life, but he had not expected to discover one of the magisters who'd begun the Blights. _"Interesting,"_ he said.

" _What brings you,_ hahren? _"_ Zevanni pivoted to face him more directly as the Grey Warden groaned and raised his head behind her, features twisted with misery. A reddish glow emanated from his form and Solas recognized it as the influence of Blight magic. His skin prickled with revulsion.

Unexpectedly, Zevanni spoke again, asking, _"And what happened to your hair?"_

Ignoring that question in favor of returning his focus to his current predicament in the Circle tower of Hasmal, he said, _"I have woken from_ uthenera _recently, but with some…complications."_

" _Such as?"_

Solas eyed Zevanni a moment, weighing his next words. He trusted her implicitly as she'd been an instrumental part of his rebellion in Elvhenan. They'd been lovers periodically, slaking lust and easing frustration with the sex, but had never been emotionally entangled. Even so, Solas remained wary of letting any one agent draw too close to him personally. Revealing weakness was always a dangerous thing, but all of his agents understood that without Solas there could be no restoration of Elvhenan, no destruction of the Veil.

Still…to have been an _Evanuris_ and now to barely have any magic at all…

Deciding to be vague and cagey, Solas said, _"I was too weak upon waking to fight the Templars who found my_ uthenera _chamber. I have been trapped in the Hasmal Circle tower in the Free Marches for the better part of a month."_

Zevanni's eyes shot open wide and she let out a dry, unbelieving laugh. _"Truly?"_

" _Yes,"_ Solas replied, letting irritation creep into his voice. _"There is some hope of escape, but it will take time. I am also…struggling to adjust to the limited magic of this world."_ That was one way to put it.

Now Zevanni's brow furrowed. "Ir abelas, hahren. _Are you in danger? I can reach you in perhaps a week. We are not far from the Free Marches and there's enough time before winter that we can reach you…"_

" _Who is with you?"_ Solas asked. He knew several of his agents had been coming awake in the last year, triggered by runes around his tomb that would have only activated as his foci neared full charge. It could be enough by now that they'd be able to form a sort of mercenary group of their own, a little band of Elvhen survivors that could feasibly attack the Hasmal tower on his behalf…but at great risk.

" _Var,"_ Zevanni replied. _"But he cannot touch the Fade and has been distraught with the loss of his magic."_

Solas winced. He could empathize with Var a great deal. _"Has he tried lyrium?"_ he asked.

Zevanni nodded. _"Yes. It barely brings him any mana. The Veil is just too much for him. I've begun trying to train him as a rogue, but he's still adjusting."_

" _Anyone else?"_ Solas asked.

" _I've touched Lyris and Mathrel's dreams. They are well, attached at the hip as always. Felassan was there to care for them when they woke. He is in Orlais, currently—I think. He has been difficult to reach in the dreaming. Too busy sweet-talking those insufferable shem-elf Keepers, I suppose."_ She squared her shoulders as she switched topics. _"I've also recruited a half dozen shem-elves—Dalish specifically. We form a band of about fifty. What are the defenses of the tower?"_

Solas shook his head. _"Far greater than you could hope to defeat with that number,_ falon. _"_

The Grey Warden groaned behind Zevanni and she pivoted, thrusting out a hand and murmuring something under her breath. A green glow of energy flowed out from her hand to encircle the Grey Warden, making him sag again.

Facing Solas once more, Zevanni crossed her arms over her chest. _"You have some hope of escaping without our aid,_ hahren?"

" _I do,"_ Solas said and smiled slightly and began to tell her of the Dalish siblings. When he'd related everything of note to her, Zevanni cocked her head and he saw her cheeks bunch up over the bandanna, her eyes crinkling. _"What is it?"_ he asked and frowned at the wariness he heard in his own voice.

" _You fancy the shem-elf Dreamer,_ hahren _,"_ she said. It was not a question.

" _I see her as a valuable ally,"_ Solas told her, stiffly. _"Nothing more."_

Zevanni shrugged casually, nodding. "Ir abelas, hahren, _if I have incurred offense."_ Turning away from him, she strode through the grass, setting it crunching underfoot as she circled round the Grey Warden like a shark. _"If I can aid this shem-elf Dreamer, I will, but I'd encourage you to consider recruiting her to our cause if you think she's trustworthy."_

" _I have yet to determine that,"_ Solas hedged, shifting his weight from one foot to another with mounting discomfort at this topic.

Zevanni went on, _"The shem-elves I've taken in don't know who they serve, but they've proven ideal for my mission in Tevinter. Best of all, should things get fucked and they die—no loss, really."_ She shrugged. _"It's not as if there aren't thousands more shem-elves. It's not like we can save all of them when we destroy the Veil so they're going to die anyway. Might as well spare the Elvhen survivors."_ Her brown eyes narrowed and her voice was slightly breathy with excitement. _"And this one in the tower with you is a_ Dreamer. _Better still. She can be sacrificed rather than one of our own."_

Solas fought down the angry tension that had snapped his muscles taut at this discussion. Breathing deeply at the warm, dry air of the Tevinter dreamscape, Solas forced himself to remain impassive though he wanted to disagree with Zevanni and react with the disgust that was currently curdling his stomach acids. Zevanni was right. He _should_ be thinking of Rosa this way—as a tool to be recruited and used to achieve his greater goals.

 _No,_ another part of him, deeper and passionate, railed against those cruel, callous thoughts. _She is real. She is sentient._ When he thought of her as a tool, as a _thing_ , he was no better than the Evanuris he'd locked away in the Black City. He would be the monster the Dalish remembered him as if he fell to that line of thinking. And yet, simultaneously, Zevanni was right and he knew better than to chastise her. It was cold, but also practical that the shem-elves of this doomed world should be used like pawns as they moved forward in order to preserve Elvhen agents.

 _We cannot save all of them,_ Zevanni had said. That was true…but some would survive. They had to, for there were too few Elvhen survivors to repopulate on their own. They would need Dalish and city elves to infuse new blood into their midst.

" _You make a very interesting point,"_ Solas admitted. _"I shall bear it in mind."_ Yet inwardly he cringed back from the prospect. Recruit Rosa and Tal? For the sole purpose of sacrificing them? It seemed unfathomable. To Zevanni he finished by saying, _"For now my concern is with formulating contingency plans. The Templars have locked away my foci. I must reclaim it."_ He smiled, hard and fierce. _"I wonder if you might travel south to Hasmal and lie in wait until opportunity presents itself…?"_

Zevanni's cheeks bunched and her eyes crinkled, telling him she grinned again. _"For you,_ hahren? _I would do anything."_ Gesturing to the Grey Warden still slumped over on the ground, breathing raggedly and giving off that disturbing reddish glow, Zevanni said, "Care to join me?"

"Of course, _falon._ "

* * *

Rosa's mind drifted, scattered and unfocused. The Fade seemed to press against her, always at the edge of her awareness as extreme exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration took their toll. Her stomach had seemed to gnaw a hole in itself for hours and hours at first, but now thirst had risen with exhaustion to be her greatest misery. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth and she had a throbbing headache.

The Templars had continued their campaign of sleep-deprivation, coming by to shake her awake every few minutes. It no longer fully stirred her however and she had begun to lose her sense of what was real and what was the Fade and had tried several times now to will away the cell and her shackles only to realize she wasn't fully in the Fade and could not do it. Still, those brief, confused snatches of sleep reenergized her enough that she managed to focus whenever the Templars came by to offer food and water only to take it away when she proclaimed her innocence.

To keep her spirits up, Rosa began to hum and then to sing into the blackness. It was a meandering tune, beautiful and trilling, wordless. Rosa had heard this song from wisps in the Fade as a child and had spent years trying to reproduce it in the waking world with her own voice and to set it to words.

" _Can you feel the fire in these eyes?"_ she sang, her voice rising and falling rhythmically. " _Keep me in your sight. Fear the fire taking flight, roaming through the night."_ She broke off, chuckling as she heard the groan of the rusty hinges on the door somewhere down the hallway. Swallowing to wet her throat, she continued as if she couldn't hear their booted feet clomping on the stone. _"Fear the fire, deep inside. Fire; let's ignite. Under my even skies."_

When the Templars reached her cell they slammed their armored gauntlets on the bars, creating an ear-splitting racket. One of them shouted, "Shut your mouth, mage filth."

Rosa flinched despite herself at the loud noise of their gauntlets on the metal, then rolled her eyes with irritation aimed more at herself than the Templars. This would be the third time now they'd come by with food and water to tempt her and then denied it to her when she told them she was innocent. Her hands opened and closed, tugging against the shackles as she pressed her forehead to the cold stone in front of her again, shielding her eyes from the harsh light of their torch.

"Look how she fears the light," one of them, a woman this time, snarled. "This knife-ear savage has never known the Maker or Andraste."

Sadly, that wasn't true. Rosa had endured lessons every day where she pretended to study the Chant of Light with a dozen other apprentices, all mere children. But when the instructor had demanded she recite portions of it, Rosa had refused. The old woman teaching the course had slapped her across the face with every refusal, but Rosa remained resolute. She would not bow to the _shemlen_ religion or their holy woman. Unlike Tal, who had chosen his vallaslin more on a whim and didn't mind reciting the Chant to please his teachers, Rosa had devoted herself wholly and passionately to Dirthamen.

"No food and no sleep for almost thirty-six hours?" one of the men asked.

"Yes," the female Templar replied. "As per the Knight-Commander's standard when dealing with dangerous mages."

The man grunted. "Prudent, I suppose." Stepping closer, he reached out and jangled the chain connecting Rosa's shackles to the wall. "Apprentice Rosa, I'm Knight-Captain Brycen. I've been sent to fetch you for interrogation. Are you able to walk?"

Rosa lifted her head from the wall and blinked at him, her eyes streaming with moisture from the torchbearer behind the Knight-Captain. Brycen stared at her, stolid and cold, little better than a statue. He was around middle-aged, she guessed as his hair appeared to have gone silver but his face held a youthful look still.

"Not with these chains," she wisecracked, baring her teeth in a hard, humorless smile that she knew would look more like a snarl.

Brycen grunted and then turned, snapping his fingers at the female Templar behind him, who promptly handed him her keys. In a few moments Brycen had unlocked her shackles and freed her. He stood back as she rose shakily to her feet, his hand on his sword hilt. Even through her exhausted, thirst and hunger-dulled senses Rosa knew he and the other two Templars were anxious about her and expecting trouble. They really did believe she'd killed Curtis.

 _Fenedhis._ That was just what she needed.

The Knight-Captain and his lackeys escorted her out and Rosa's heart pounded frantically in her chest even as her cramped leg muscles seemed to sing with joy at being stretched. She rolled her neck muscles as they walked and flexed her hands, enjoying the way the Knight-Captain and the other two Templars tensed with her every move. It didn't matter that she'd been starved and deprived of both sleep and water, the Templars feared her natural power more than any physical weapon. It didn't even matter to them that she lacked a staff.

It was that thought that wiped away her satisfaction as she realized the implications. They thought her a blood mage, that much was obvious after they'd paraded her pendant in and questioned her about it. But, on top of that, their intense fear of her despite the lack of a staff to channel her magic suggested they thought her dangerous in some additional way because even a blood mage would need a weapon of some kind to draw blood. Did they think her possessed then? An abomination? Had they puzzled out the type of spell on the pendant after all?

Trying to keep her heart from racing overmuch, Rosa steeled herself as the Knight-Captain led her through the tower and up countless flights of stairs to a large, circular room. An enormous Chantry sunburst symbol had been painted onto the stone of the floor and stained-glass windows encircled the room on two-thirds of it. The stone walls were somber and thick and, through her exhaustion and resulting nearness to the Fade, Rosa could feel the cold, wild fear and abject terror permeating this room. Spirits pushed at the Veil, clamoring. Over the scuff and clank of the Templars' feet and armor Rosa could hear the simple wisps singing. But the happy song she'd heard from them as a child in the Brecilian forest had been warped into a minor key, shrill and discordant.

She had seen this room before when she stalked the dreams of mages who'd recently undergone their Harrowing.

A chill ran down her spine as Brycen shoved her toward the center of the room. "Don't give us any trouble now," he warned her.

Rosa moved into position there, well out of sword range of the three Templars who'd escorted her here as she scanned around the room, taking everything in. There were probably a dozen Templars in this room, standing along the curved walls, evenly spaced from one another. Each one wore full armor, including their feathered, face-obscuring helmets, and they had drawn their swords and held them blade down, resting against the stone floor. In addition to the Templars Rosa saw three senior enchanters and the First Enchanter standing closer to her, the four mages forming a square. They stood with their eyes downcast and their hands clasped in front of them as if in prayer.

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed to try and wet her dry throat. She quashed the cold, strangling grip of fear at her neck, but it seemed to sit in her throat as if she'd swallowed a lump of ice. _I will make it through this or I will die quickly and nobly,_ she vowed to herself.

"Apprentice Rosa," Brycen called to her from his spot near the closed door to this room. "You have been taken into custody as a suspected maleficar for practice of blood magic. We are convened here to determine your guilt or innocence. How do you plead?"

"How do you think?" she demanded, hands falling to her sides to clench into fists. "Innocent! I have never practiced blood magic."

Brycen dipped his chin slightly. "You are also a suspect in the suspicious death of Ser Curtis. How do you plead?"

Rosa scoffed, raising her voice to shout, "Innocent, of course! Perhaps you could explain to me how you think I killed a Templar that night when I was locked in the apprentice barracks and never left my bed!"

"A blood mage could easily manipulate the minds of any witnesses," Brycen said, dismissing her argument in his gruff, stolid voice. "Or perhaps poison. You are a Dalish savage and familiar with poisons, are you not?"

"I was First to the Keeper," she snarled. "I was taught to use healing herbs." That wasn't true, exactly. Rosa had learned herb-lore in both healing arts and poisons as every member of clan Naseral did. Yet, compared with the hunters who would actually use poison on their arrows and blades, Rosa had little experience in it.

"Unimportant," Brycen snapped. "You—" He was cut off by the rusty, screeching groan of the door opening as a new figure in armor stormed into the room. Brycen glared at her a moment before sobering and greeting the newcomer. "Seeker Pentaghast. The Knight-Commander did not expect you to—"

"I know she did not expect me to attend," the Seeker cut him off with an impatient wave of one armored hand. "But I expect justice to be carried out. Fairly." Unlike the Templars, her armor held the sword symbol in a deep blue. Rosa narrowed her eyes at the Seeker, remembering her from both her dreams in the Fade and the brief interrogation the day after Curtis' death.

Rosa let herself show her surprise as the Seeker settled into position beside the Knight-Captain and squared her shoulders. The other Templars in the room and even the enchanters all seemed to stiffen—a sure sign of the Seeker's absolute authority. This woman served the Divine and she outranked _everyone_ in the tower. Rosa felt the strangling hold of fear at her throat ease slightly. Maybe she would live through this after all…

"Apprentice Rosa," Brycen went on then, glaring coldly at her. "To establish your guilt or innocence in the charges levied against you, the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter have agreed you must undergo a trial by combat. Should you pass this trial you will be given the choice to become Tranquil or undergo your Harrowing."

Rosa gawked at him, then gnashed her teeth. They had starved her, dehydrated her, and kept her awake for the better part of two days. After all that they expected her to fight in some kind of trial and to pass her Harrowing? _They want you to perish._

Too bad she wasn't about to give them the satisfaction.

"Is this agreeable to you?" Brycen asked.

Rosa spread her hands in a gesture of indifference. "Not exactly like I have a choice, so…" She motioned at herself. "Bring it."

* * *

Elven Used (All props as always to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral)

Elgar: "spirit"

Anor'Venuralas: the Elvhenan name for the Golden City. Literally means "place of the gods."

 _Anor Din'Venuralas:_ Fen'Harel's rebel name for the Golden City. Means "place of the false gods."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

The voice came again, speaking in elven, _"A pleasure to meet you, child of Dirthamen. Fear not, I have no intention of trying to possess you."_

Spinning about, searching for the demon, Rosa gnashed her teeth and let fire ignite in her palms. "This is a trick," she snarled, more to herself than to Revas. "It's always a trick with demons."

"This is a very ancient being," Revas told her, his voice soft and dry, almost reverent. "I had expected a simple demon. This creature is _not_ one who can be easily defeated."

She shot him a frown. "Are you trying to tell me I'm about to wind up dead?"

Revas hesitated, his blue eyes strained. "I am…uncertain." She sensed hidden knowledge, something he was holding back—as usual. No time to press him, though.

* * *

Author's note: As you can tell from the preview, something innnnnnteresting is going to happen next chapter, narrated from Rosa's perspective. And, if anyone reading this has also read my other story, Pride Didn't Go Before the Fall, you'll recognize Zevanni. She plays an important role in this story!


	15. Rosa and the Formless One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An impressive creature. There is a purity in such undiluted power."—Solas (Dragon Age: Inquisition, about a high dragon)
> 
> Rosa survives trial by combat to prove her innocence. Then it's time for her Harrowing, where she meets a very interesting foe.

"Remain motionless," First Enchanter Braden called out to Rosa. Glancing at where he stood off to her right in the square shape the four enchanters made around her, Rosa obeyed, though she flashed a dark, tightlipped smile to cover the throbbing pulse at her throat. Her guts twisted with anxiety.

The four enchanters each extended their arms out, summoning a rune trap that they aimed at her feet. Rosa tensed as she felt their magic sliding over her, tingling her skin. Her magic reacted to it, roiling and frothing inside her. She went lightheaded and yelped with alarm, realizing too late what the runes were doing. It was a mana trap, sucking her core dry.

" _Fenedhis,"_ she snarled. "You _shemlen_ bastards!" Scrambling backward, she tried to leave the rune circle but seemed to hit a wall. Spirit magic slapped at her skin, repelling her. "Dread Wolf take you! How am I supposed to fight in this fucking trial if I have no mana?"

"The accused is not to speak during the trial," Brycen shouted.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it," Rosa roared as she pivoted about, casting dispel repeatedly at the runes. "Give me a swift, honorable death!" She felt the runes flicker, weakened, but already her mana had shrunken enough that she had begun to feel hot and clammy, dizzy and clumsy on her feet.

At a wordless signal from Braden the enchanters released the rune spell, letting it fade away. Rosa stumbled out of it, breathing hard and fast, her mind spinning. She saw the enchanters back up rapidly as the dozen Templars from their positions evenly spaced around the circular walls surged forward to form a ring of bodies around her. Their swords glowed blue as they channeled energy and Rosa felt cold air waft on her, a wind only she could see or feel as their magic nullification washed over her, making her queasy as it clashed with her mana core.

Baring her teeth, she spun in circles, arms lifted to cast and her heart racing. "This is a fucking execution," she shouted. "Not a—"

One of the Templars in the circle around her lashed out with his fist. Rosa ducked but caught the blow on the side of the head. She stumbled away from him; panic flapping its erratic pattern deep in her skull. Survival instinct took over and she cast a barrier, even though doing it made her mana core ache. Reaching for the Fade, she felt mana surge into her and felt Rogathe pressing against the Veil, eager and willing to enter her—and yet, simultaneously, she sensed other presences, sentient and so close she could almost see them through the narrow gaps between the circle of Templars. _No, endure,_ a voice other than her own whispered into her ears. _Do not call Rogathe._

 _Tal,_ she thought. _Revas._

One of the Templars channeled his power with a sharp _whump_ noise and Rosa's barrier splintered apart. Breathing hard with panic, she cast another and whirled to face off with the nearest Templar. Reaching for the Fade again, she summoned stone despite lacking a staff and launched it at the Templar blocking her path. It smashed into him and he cried out, stumbling backward as bits of greenish stone clattered in tiny pieces to the floor.

Seeing the opening, Rosa Fade-stepped forward in a blur of blue with a whine-pop. The Templars to either side of their comrade who'd been knocked out of line swung at her with their blades, but they passed through her harmlessly. Rosa burst from the circle, coming out of the Fade-step with a flourish of her arms and then whipping about to dart for the door—only to yelp and drop to the floor as a fireball flew at her from one of the enchanters.

Rolling as she hit the ground knocked the wind out of her. Coughing, she scrambled to her feet and Fade-stepped again to collide with the closed door to the Harrowing chamber. Clasping the door handle, she tugged once, twice, thrice—nothing. Gnashing her teeth and cursing, she realized it must be barred from the other side. Behind her, she heard shouting and the clank of Templar armor as they rushed after her.

 _I'm going to die here._ Again she reached to the Fade, feeling for Rogathe and finding it—only to sense the shadowy presences once more. _No,_ a voice pleaded. _Wait._

Whipping around, she saw Brycen, two of the enchanters, and four other Templars closing in on her, swords and shields drawn and at the ready. Shoulders heaving, Rosa fought off a wave of dizzied panic as her mind churned. Why would they offer her a choice if they only meant to execute her?

Then, suddenly, she saw a flash of metal and motion, streaking at her too fast for her to dodge. She had enough time to lift a hand, shielding herself, and then white-hot pain exploded in her right palm. Crying out, she registered the throwing knife embedded in her hand and gritted her teeth as tears of pain blurred her vision. Crimson rose from the stab wound, dribbling.

And that was when she realized the Templars and the enchanters and even the Seeker had all frozen in place, tense and watchful. They should have swarmed her and taken advantage of her distraction. Instead they hesitated, and although she could feel the fear in the air, driving all the wisps clamoring at the Veil wild with excitement, she knew their fear had not stopped them. They were watching her.

 _The blood._ _Trial by combat._ The Templars believed that any mage would resort to blood magic when cornered, but if Rosa was truly innocent she wouldn't. And how could she? Rosa knew no blood magic spells and had been warned away from them long ago to ensure her connection with the Fade remained as strong as possible.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rosa felt those other presences in the Fade flush warm with approval and relief. _Yes._

Cradling her injured right palm, Rosa snarled out at the Templars facing her. "Is this what you wanted? To make me panic and draw blood to see if I would use it?" They stared at her, their magic-annulment powers making her skin bristle. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Rosa tore the blade out from her hand with a strangled cry and dropped it with a splatter of blood to her feet. She could feel the Templars brace, no doubt certain she was about to draw mana from the blood.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Rosa growled out as she clasped her injured hand in her good left one and closed her eyes, drawing from the Fade to heal herself with spirit magic. The hot throbbing in her palm eased and her shoulders sagged.

The Seeker's voice rang out from across the circular room. "I've seen enough, Knight-Captain. This apprentice is not a blood mage."

"She escaped the trial circle," Brycen shouted, red-faced and bristling. "That's impossible without blood magic! The enchanters drained her mana."

"I did not see her bleeding in the trial circle," the Seeker retorted.

One of the enchanters, probably the one who'd shot a fireball at her, said, "The Knight-Captain is right! She broke the trial circle with an unknown spell and had far too much mana. She should have been drained!"

"I'm Dalish," Rosa shouted back at him through gritted teeth. "We know a few tricks you in the Circle have forgotten, but _not_ blood magic. I drew from the Fade."

"I've seen her use that spell before, Lynden," Braden said to the other enchanter. "And so have you—during her assessment."

"If she knew any blood magic, she would have used it," the Seeker insisted in her strong, accented voice. "That was real fear. The goal of the trial is to deceive the mage into revealing her true nature. This was successful. The apprentice is _not_ a blood mage." Her words held the authority of an official judgment and Rosa saw the Templars closest to her relax, their postures easing and their weapons and shields lowering.

Brycen scowled. "Very well, Lady Seeker." He snapped at the nearest Templars and motioned to them. "Return the suspect to the center of the room."

"I can walk by myself, thank you," Rosa snapped, glaring as she strode back toward the center of the room. To her shame she felt her legs shaking with the effects of shock and exhaustion. Stubborn and refusing to show weakness, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders as she watched the Templars fall back to their positions along the walls. She met the Seeker's gaze as the human woman took her spot near Brycen and smiled her thanks. The Seeker remained aloof, but Rosa thought she saw a softening in those brown eyes.

"As the trial has determined you are not a blood mage, there is still the matter of your future here within the Circle," Brycen said, his voice echoing from the walls. "Do you choose to undergo your Harrowing here and now or do you submit to us to become Tranquil?"

"Fuck your Rite," Rosa snarled, glaring. Arching an eyebrow as Brycen sneered and the Seeker frowned, Rosa asked, "Is that answer enough for you?"

"Then you submit to your Harrowing?" Brycen asked.

Rosa motioned at the four enchanters standing around her and the rest of the room. "Doesn't look like I have much of a choice. I'd rather be dead than Tranquil."

Brycen shot the Seeker a quick sidelong look and in that instant Rosa felt another chill run along her spine. _They're not finished with me yet,_ she thought and recalled her suspicion earlier that their fear had been as much blood magic as possession. Yet they'd not mentioned that. Perhaps they knew a spirit or maybe even a clever demon could hide within her without revealing itself and so they'd need to trick her to deceive the spirit.

Regardless, Rosa had nothing to hide. Not anymore.

Well, except her brother. And that she was a Dreamer. And that she did accidentally kill that bastard Curtis. And... _Fenedhis,_ she thought to herself, _shut up._

"Begin," the Seeker called out.

This time Rosa didn't react much when the enchanters extended their arms and cast another rune circle around her. This one she recognized from watching mages' dreams—it was a binding circle to trap a demon-possessed mage. Rosa sat down on the hard, cold stone floor, making herself comfortable in the circle as the First Enchanter brought out a large vial of bright blue lyrium and poured it into a wooden bowl.

Watching calmly from her spot on the floor, Rosa smiled slightly, fighting down the twist of nervousness inside her. She'd watched multiple dreams from mages who'd passed their Harrowing recently and knew this was not usually how the ritual went. Normally only the First Enchanter would be present from what Rosa had seen and he would bring the bowl to her to touch or sip from. The special ritual lyrium would draw her spirit immediately through the Veil and to the Fade. Most mages needed it to consciously enter the Fade without sleep. The Templars and the First Enchanter needed the apprentice to slip into the Fade here, at this predetermined place because a demon would be waiting, lured by them earlier. But Rosa could have slipped into the Fade any time she chose, conscious and alert. Of course, the Templars and the enchanters didn't know that about her and couldn't be allowed to discover it.

At any rate, something different was happening now. The liquid sizzled and hissed as it bubbled in the bowl and a mist rose from it, reminding Rosa of Fade ether only blue and glowing. Braden wafted at it, as if trying to get a big whiff. Gradually the lyrium mist spread out, moving almost like a conscious thing as it spread to the next two enchanters in the circle. An older man, dark skinned but with blue eyes—Lynden, the loyalist who'd hurled a fireball at her—snuffled as he inhaled the mist as well, swaying on his feet. The Templars along the wall behind the enchanters shifted, their armor clanking as the lyrium mist reached them too. The Seeker and Knight-Captain Brycen both showed no reaction except a flare of their nostrils as the mist reached them.

Finally, when the lyrium mist had finished circling the room, flowing from one enchanter to the next and over all the Templars, it flowed toward Rosa herself. As she breathed in the lyrium, Rosa grimaced at the sharp, almost metallic scent. It was like…blood? Dizziness made the room spin and her exhaustion crashed into her like a brick wall. All thoughts fled from her mind and her body went limp as every anxiety and fear leeched away from her. She could feel the Fade caress her; reaching out like an old friend or lover. Sighing, she fell backward, blacking out as the Fade took her in.

* * *

Rosa opened her eyes to see the velvety black of the night sky with stars scattered over it. An overlay of barren tree branches obscured her view, rustling dryly in the wind. A chill nipped at her skin and she heard the croaking caw of ravens from somewhere just out of sight.

Sitting up with a grunt, Rosa rubbed at her face. The scent of dead leaves and blood tickled her nose. Perturbed, she saw the crimson stains on her halla-leather tunic and breeches. Memory trickled back into her as she saw the pinkish line of the new scar in the palm of her right hand.

"Fucking Templars," she grumbled as she got to her feet and surveyed the dreamscape around her. She stood in a forest, likely the Brecilian forest where she had been born and lived until being banished from her clan. It appeared to be late autumn, around the time she'd been banished two years ago, but Rosa couldn't hear the roar of the Fehorn river anywhere nearby so it seemed unlikely that the Fade had chosen to recreate the bandit attack.

Hoarse cawing from behind her made Rosa spin around to see two ravens on a low-hanging branch. They sat side-by-side, feathers ruffled as they regarded her with glinting eyes. Concentrating on them, Rosa sensed the presence of a Dreamer and the other was…just a sleeper. _Revas?_ She wondered. _Tal?_

" _Andaran atish'an,"_ she greeted the ravens with a nod and a smile. One stared at her in silence while the other bird cawed; its beak open and its pink little tongue flicking like a worm.

Chuckling, she started to walk toward the ravens when the sound of crunching leaves underfoot made her whip around, hands raised to cast defensively—only to see First Enchanter Braden and Senior Enchanter Lynden approaching through the darkened forest. "Hold," Braden shouted. "We are friends."

Rosa blinked at them, concentrating for only a moment before deciding these were more sleepers and not spirits or demons masquerading. "What are you doing here?" she asked, shaking her head. "This is supposed to be _my_ Harrowing."

"We should not speak to her," Lynden growled to the First Enchanter.

Braden shot Lynden a sour look before addressing Rosa, "Your Harrowing will naturally be different from the vast majority of rituals because you are also being judged for crimes against the Circle. The raw lyrium I poured sent all of our spirits through the Veil in the Harrowing chamber. Our task is to…" He frowned, appearing to struggle for words.

"Observe your Harrowing firsthand," Lynden supplied in a grumble.

"Yes," Braden agreed, nodding. "As such, you are bound in the physical realm with a binding circle rune should you fail."

_Meaning if I were to get myself possessed by a demon and wake up I'll be trapped._

Humming in the back of her throat, Rosa shrugged. "Observe away, First Enchanter." Searching around again and seeing nothing but dark, misted forest around her, she asked, "So, where's everyone else?" She suspected she already knew the answer to that question. They had slipped into the Fade and now were caught in their own dreamscapes, different from her own. She could summon them as a Dreamer, at least those she had met—the Seeker, Brycen, and the other two enchanters whose dreams she'd stalked before—but doing so would reveal far too much to her audience.

"That is not for you to know," Lynden scolded. Braden cut an irritated glance at the other enchanter but otherwise said nothing.

"Fine by me," Rosa said and shrugged again. "My job is to find and defeat a demon that wants to possess me, right?" At the enchanters' impassive stares and silence, Rosa smirked. "Ah, right. You can't talk to me. I'm still on trial." Turning her back on them, she began walking toward the low-hanging tree branch where the ravens remained perched, watching her. As she passed under them both birds left their spots, fluttering in a flurry of black feathers. One landed on her shoulder, its talons clutching at her tunic with a gentleness that made it clumsy as it tried to balance without harming her. Even in the poor light she could see it had brown eyes the same warm shade as her brother's.

"Hello, Fear," she teased it and then pointed at the other raven flapping overhead. "And that must be Deceit." _Also known, possibly, as Revas_. "Dirthamen be with me, right?"

The brown-eyed raven on her shoulder cawed and she stroked his shiny black feathers as she continued to walk, bare feet crunching on the leaves. Braden and Lynden followed her some paces back, well out of reach. Their voices murmured together as they apparently observed the Fade around them, pointing out rocks or leaves or mushrooms that could be spirits in disguise. This might be her Harrowing, but they were scholars and conscious exploration of the Fade was rare for them, meaning they had to make the most of it. If they wondered at her fearlessness, walking brazenly through the trees with a raven on her shoulder and ignoring the flash of wisps darting about deeper into the dreamscape forest, they made no comment.

After a few minutes Rosa saw a wall of mist ahead. The raven flying overhead disappeared into it without hesitation, but Rosa paused to consider the mist and stretch out her senses. She felt the presence of other sleepers, not as heavy or pronounced as that of the other Dreamer in the Fade with her, but still noticeable. And beyond that, at the edges of her senses, Rosa felt a demon. It was enough already to make her break out in a sweat, a sort of prickling passing over her.

 _Demons and Dreamers,_ she thought and flexed her hands at her sides into fists. _As intertwined as mages and Templars._ To the demon she would be a beacon, shining and brilliant as Rogathe was to her. Where _was_ Rogathe anyway? She'd felt it earlier, during the trial…had Revas banished the spirit for fear it'd endanger her with her audience in tow?

Sucking in a deep breath and rolling her shoulders in their sockets, Rosa strode into the wall of mist—and into the dazzling, blinding light of a windswept desert. Sand slid beneath her feet, sending her into a crouched stance as she caught herself with one hand. The action jostled the raven on her shoulder, making it caw and flap as it struggled to keep its balance. Braden and Lynden followed after her, shielding their eyes against the brightness of the sun.

Rosa squinted out into the desert and saw nothing but dunes rising and falling for as far as her eye could see, although blowing sand obscured the land behind her and to the left, marking the barrier between dreams. Ahead she saw inky black clouds, ominous and ugly, scudding their way along a craggy set of mountains. Green Fade ether coiled in the sky, though it appeared thin and tenuous with the force of the sun cutting through it. Glancing over her shoulder, Rosa saw the Black City high above, a few lights glittering like campfires in its jagged windows. Closer she saw the second raven, flapping as it made tight circles over her head.

Facing forward again, Rosa blew out a breath. Her inner senses could feel the demon out there in the plain at the foot of those ugly mountains and beneath the black clouds. Reaching up to the brown-eyed raven on her shoulder, Rosa stroked its feathers and smiled. "Guess we're going for a walk, Fear."

The raven let out another dry caw, as if in agreement. Overhead, the second raven took off for the ominous black clouds. Rosa followed.

* * *

Solas knew he had little time. Dawn would be coming swiftly and, with it, a Templar and a few Tranquil would unlock the apprentice barracks and provide bread for the morning meal. Pulled from the Fade, Solas and Tal would be unable to assist or protect Rosa in whatever trial came next.

And, if Solas' senses were correct, he already knew it would not prove easy. He had expected the demon awaiting its apprentice sacrifice in the Harrowing ritual would be a common hostile spirit embodying rage, fear, or pride. Rosa would dispatch it with ease, as she had managed to break the Templar circle around her in the waking world. But, as he flew over the tawny sand of this dreamscape, he felt his stomach clenching cold with dread as he _recognized_ the feeling and aura of the hostile spirit ahead.

Below him, jogging over the sand dunes, Rosa made good time, drawing steadily nearer to the brown-black mountains. Light flickered on the undersides of the clouds gathered over where the demon waited and Solas felt the rumble of thunder in his chest. Wind whipped past him, rough and hot, as if it wished to set him aflame.

Being a raven was…exhausting. He'd chosen this form at Tal's suggestion, agreeing with the younger man readily as he recalled Rosa's story in their game of Big Liar involving two ravens. Flying made his stomach do flips and summersaults inside him with vertigo as he had to fight the instinctual fear that he would fall. For comfort he reached to his mana core, petting it the way a Templar would affectionately tend their blade. It was small and lethargic, but still present despite the fact that he'd consumed only one vial of lyrium before sleeping for the night. The knowledge gave him confidence, but he knew he had incredibly limited abilities.

Watching Rosa through the thin Veil in the Harrowing chamber earlier had required Rogathe's aid. The spirit had lent Solas its eyes to peek through the Veil and glimpse the real world. Through Rogathe the Fade had transformed to reflect what was happening in the Harrowing chamber in real time. Tal had spent most of his time gawking at it and biting at his nails with anxiety.

As it became clear that Rosa had passed her combat trial without calling Rogathe or using blood magic, Solas quickly realized the Templars and the Seeker intended on performing a different ritual to allow them to witness her Harrowing for themselves. Rogathe would become a danger to Rosa, drawing Templar suspicion at its familiarity with her. Solas had used much of his strength to alter the Fade and banish Rogathe away, though the spirit would inevitably return to be near Rosa, like the faithful companion it was. That was yet another reason this needed to be done swiftly.

Peeking downward, Solas let out a little puff of air in annoyance as he spotted Seeker Pentaghast and Knight-Captain Brycen walking in the depression between two dunes ahead. Rosa was on a course that would ensure she met with them.

Hoping to steer her around them, Solas wheeled about and circled off to the left. He knew Rosa saw the action and changed course, walking around the next dune rather than ascending it. Solas flew on, encouraging her to walk parallel to the mountains for a few minutes and wishing irritably that he and Rosa could reshape the Fade to shorten the distance. It was all an illusion anyway, a dreamscape created by the demon to tire Rosa out and increase anxiety for the confrontation to come.

He _really_ hoped he was wrong about the identity of the demon.

Braden and Lynden, tailing Rosa, ignored her course correction and jogged up the dune to get a better vantage point. Solas cawed his frustration and wheeled back toward the enchanters, tilting his head to observe the inevitable meeting as the Knight-Captain and the Seeker noticed the two enchanters and called out to them.

"Apprentice," Braden shouted to Rosa. "Come here and join us."

Rosa lifted her gaze up to Solas and made a shrugging motion. Tal cawed on her shoulder in protest, flapping his wings. Rosa tickled his chest as she walked, speaking in elven. _"You make an excellent raven, little brother."_

Solas circled overhead, observing as Rosa joined the enchanters, the Seeker, and the Knight-Captain, arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked out to one side. "I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me."

"The bird on your shoulder," Brycen said in a snarl. "Remove it."

Rosa frowned, reaching up to ruffle Tal's feathers. "Why? He's harmless."

"It could be a demon," the Seeker said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

"They often present themselves in humble guises," Braden agreed with a sage nod. "Best destroy it."

Now Rosa shook her head, her lips curling with a sneer. "Do you shemlen truly know so little?" Pointing up toward where Solas still circled, she said, "In my people's legends two ravens are a sign of our god Dirthamen. The tattoos on my face honor him. My knowledge of that shaped these harmless spirits into ravens."

"Your heathen beliefs have no bearing here," Brycen growled, taking an aggressive step forward. "Destroy the bird or I will slay you and you will fail your task."

Rosa's brow knit and her jaw clenched. "I won't destroy an innocent, _harmless_ spirit. If it _was_ a demon it would have talked or tried to trick me by now."

"Merely remove it from yourself and let us continue on," the Seeker interjected before Brycen could insist otherwise.

"Fine," Rosa said and reached up to grab Tal—but he flapped and fell backwards, off her shoulder and to the sand. He hopped and flapped clumsily, retreating over the tawny sand, trying to fly. Facing the humans again, Rosa asked bitterly, "Happy?"

"Hardly," Brycen growled.

"It will do," the Seeker said, overruling him. She turned and pointed to the ugly black clouds in the distance. "It would appear the demon waits there. Let us continue on."

"Lead the way, apprentice," Braden instructed her.

With an angry, stiff gait, Rosa walked on and Solas made a wide, lazy circle to search swiftly for Tal. He found the elf-turned-raven hopping and flapping along some distance behind Rosa and the humans, clearly trying to take flight and failing. Solas rolled his eyes and would have smiled his amusement had he had lips to do so.

Turning back to the clouds, he flew after Rosa, his pace quickening. They were nearly out of time.

* * *

As Rosa entered the shadow of the black clouds, she saw sandstone blocks and columns—signs of a ruin. Passing the nearest column, she examined the runes over it and blinked with surprise when she recognized the script as not dwarven or Tevene or human of any kind. No, this was _elven,_ and so ancient it was unreadable to Rosa. She'd seen script like this on ruins in the Brecilian forest…and in the uthenera tomb her clan had guarded for generations.

What kind of demon was this? Closing her eyes and reaching outward, Rosa let the sensation of the demon wash over her. Much closer now, its aura gripped her like a giant's hand, crushing and claustrophobic. She wheezed as she struggled to breathe and calm her suddenly pounding heart, but each breath held a foul taste of metal. Her skin prickled and heat licked at her skin, intense and at the edge of burning.

A powerful demon, unlike any she'd felt before with one notable exception…

She laid a hand on the column and murmured, "Dirthamen guide me. Mythal protect me. Elgar'nan…" She smiled tightly. "Lend me your fire."

Overhead, the raven that'd been guiding her cawed with impatience. Rosa let her hand fall from the column and steeled herself, stiffening her spine as she strode into the ruins. The four humans trailed behind her, slowing their pace as they anticipated the demon to appear any moment now.

Rosa reached a mostly intact wall of yellowed sandstone bricks and picked her way around it. Above, the raven suddenly wheeled about and cawed, a frantic note in its hoarse voice. Rosa stiffened, moving forward haltingly and calling her magic as she rounded the wall.

As she stepped into the shadow of the wall, the Fade trembled and a wave of dizziness assaulted her. Simultaneously, the earth began to rumble, low and deep. Sand hissed as it shifted and the half-collapsed sandstone wall to her left abruptly changed shape, rising out of the sand and high into the air, cutting off Rosa's view of the four _shemlen_ behind her.

Scrambling away from the wall, Rosa lifted her hands in preparation to cast, sweat dousing her. Sand and rocks shifted underfoot and the wind made them hiss and sigh. Dust impacted her face and tried to get into her eyes. Rosa willed it away without thinking about it, creating a pocket around herself where the wind was calm.

" _Aneth ara,"_ a silken voice called to her with the wind. It was androgynous but clear and crisp. The accent of its words reminded her, oddly, of Revas and of—

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Rosa saw the raven dive for her and then, in a cloud of purple-black magic that made her skin tingle pleasantly, Revas stood beside her. His blue eyes were wide; his lips parted as he reached out and grasped her bicep. "Something is not right, lethallan," he started to say, but Rosa cut him off.

"You can't be here like this. They'll see you." She twisted to search for the humans only to realize that the sandstone walls had risen in a rectangle around her, cutting her off from their sight and creating an impromptu arena. " _Fenedhis,_ " she cursed.

The voice came again, speaking in elven, _"A pleasure to meet you, child of Dirthamen. Fear not, I have no intention of trying to possess you."_

Spinning about, searching for the demon, Rosa gnashed her teeth and let fire ignite in her palms. "This is a trick," she snarled, more to herself than to Revas. "It's always a trick with demons."

"This is a very ancient being," Revas told her, his voice soft and dry, almost reverent. "I had expected a simple demon. This creature is _not_ one who can be easily defeated."

She shot him a frown. "Are you trying to tell me I'm about to wind up dead?"

Revas hesitated, his blue eyes strained. "I am…uncertain." She sensed hidden knowledge, something he was holding back—as usual. No time to press him, though.

Chuckling echoed over the ruins, making Rosa tense and pan about the arena, moving to be back to back with Revas. "Come out, bastard," Rosa snarled under her breath.

Then, in the center of the arena, Rosa saw a shadow spreading over the sand, bubbling up like tar. It rose from the sand, forming an amorphous blob. It glittered even in the shade of the black clouds overhead. Rosa stared, her mouth hanging open. "What in all the great Beyond is _that?"_

The black blob chuckled again, its voice disembodied as it echoed from the sandstone walls of the ruin. _"Is that any way to speak to your betters, child?"_ it asked.

" _Dread Wolf take you,"_ Rosa shouted at it and launched a fireball at it with a wordless shout.

But the demon only parted to let the fireball pass harmlessly through its middle, sizzling as it shot past. It reformed then, unharmed, and laughed louder this time, as if with genuine amusement. _"You do not know how truly entertaining that curse is,"_ it said enigmatically. _"But I tire of this. Be gone, Prideful One, my business is with the child of Dirthamen."_

 _Prideful One?_ She knew why it called her a child of Dirthamen—she wore that truth on her face—but why would it adopt a moniker for Revas? Filing that away to consider in the unlikely event she survived this, Rosa threw up a barrier over herself and Revas and nudged him with her elbow. "Ready to kick some ass, Revas?"

Oddly, Revas ignored her and called out to the demon, _"What do you wish of us?"_

" _I wish nothing of you, Prideful One,"_ it replied smoothly, the black, tarry surface undulating like water. _"My business is with her."_ The Fade rippled around them and Rosa felt the sand beneath her feet begin to shake. She tossed up another barrier with a flick of her hand, casting it in a wide circle to include Revas—only to realize he had vanished.

"Shit," she cursed, spinning around as her throat seemed to close with horror. "Revas?" she called. "Revas?!"

" _I have pushed him from the dreaming,"_ the demon said. _"He is diminished and useless to me."_

"I'll kill you," Rosa promised, reaching inward for mana as she prepared to cast firestorm on it—but the demon let out a pulse of energy that impacted her like a stiff wind. Rosa yelped and rolled sideways, aborting the firestorm.

" _Calm yourself, child of Dirthamen. I have no desire to harm you. We need each other, you and I."_

" _The only thing I need from you is to kill you,"_ Rosa yelled, baring her teeth.

" _Incorrect,"_ it said and pulsated, its surface rippling. _"As you have no chance of defeating me, you will require my aid in deceiving the humans accompanying you."_

" _I can take you,"_ Rosa said, blustering.

" _You know this is untrue. You can feel my power. Dreamer though you are, you remain alone and restricted by the Veil. Attack me all you like, you will never do me significant harm and I have chased away my simpler brethren. You will never pass your Harrowing in a timely manner without my assistance. Fortunate for you, child, I intend to help you. I will fight you and appear to lose to your prowess in full view of the humans following you. This will ensure you pass your Harrowing."_

" _I don't believe you, demon!"_ Rosa shouted at it, shaking with adrenaline. Her hands opened and closed as she considered launching more fire at it.

" _There is a price for my help, of course. A choice,"_ the demon said.

Rosa sneered at it, slipping back into common. "Of course."

" _You have three options, child, and none of them are possible in this moment. You will make your choice later, outside the dreaming. First, you may choose to do nothing to repay me for my aid. In that event, I will administer punishment. I will whisper a secret you hold dear to the Templars."_

Now Rosa's stomach tightened, making her feel nauseous. _"What secret?"_

The demon chuckled, velvety and smooth. _"Truly, you are a child of Dirthamen. You know I will not tell you. That is the difficulty of the choice facing you no matter what decision you make. Yet I will tell you that the secret I reveal will bring you suffering, but not death."_

" _What are my other choices?"_ Rosa asked, sidestepping along the sandstone wall, straining her ears and her senses for some sign of the humans on the other side of it. She thought she heard the clash of steel and shouts, the sound of fighting. Had the demon sent some distraction to the _shemlen_?

The demon rippled again, its shape shifting from a round ball to an oval blob and back once more. _"You may repay me in blood. I will accept a vial of your blood in three days' time. You are to leave it in the—"_

"No," Rosa snarled, shaking her head. _"I know what you want. The answer will always be no."_

" _Then perhaps you will choose the third option."_ It pulsed, another hot wind impacting Rosa's skin.

Gritting her teeth, Rosa cast a wall of force, an invisible shield to serve as a windbreak. Dust and sand broke over the invisible windbreak, like pebbles disturbing the smooth surface of a pond. _"Speak!"_ she ordered it.

The demon said, _"I desire a vial of blood from the Prideful One."_

" _What?"_ Rosa asked, stunned into staring stupefied.

" _I require his blood. You are to leave it in the quarters of the Templar you slew in the Fade, where the Veil is thin enough that I may claim it without being summoned."_

Rosa scoffed. "Are you daft? No." Pausing a moment, she frowned and switched back to elven. _"Why are you after Revas' blood?"_

The demon chuckled. _"That is not your concern. Unless you desire to enter another exchange to pay for the knowledge."_

 _Of course,_ she thought and dropped into a battle-ready crouch. "I've heard enough from you," she shouted. "Let's do this, demon!"

The tarry blob stretched, reshaping itself. _"You understand my terms? You understand the choice you must make? Pay in blood or I will use your secrets against you."_

" _I understand you'll try to trick me,"_ Rosa snarled, her feet scuffing on the pebbly sand as she skirted around the demon and along the sandstone wall, ready to bolt. _"And that I will never pay you in blood."_

The demon cackled, light flashing from its depths as its black color began to transform. _"You are a stubborn one, child of Dirthamen, but no matter. The bargain is struck and if_ you _will not submit the payment in blood there is always the other."_

Rosa's stomach seemed to fall out of her and to the sand below as she realized what the demon meant: _Tal._ "You will never have him!"

" _Such confidence, child. But it is mere bravado. I can smell your fear like rot on carrion. He is no Dreamer. He can be deceived far easier than you and his blood will suffice."_ The demon warped with a wet, slurping noise that became a slick growling. The blackness of its shadowy form brightened until it was a fiery red, orange, and yellow. A triangular head took shape with twin glowing coals for eyes. Smoke rose from its skin as it regarded her, its aura crushing and hot and acrid to Rosa's inner senses.

It had become a rage demon, but in appearance only.

" _Consider carefully your choice,"_ the demon counseled her, its voice a growl now. _"Is your precious blood so valuable that you would suffer for it under the Templars' thumbs? Is your affection for the Prideful One so great that you would sacrifice the child of Mythal? The Prideful One is weak and you could take what I require with ease."_

"No," Rosa repeated through gritted teeth, mind spinning. Tossing up another barrier over herself, she concentrated on winter spells and felt her blood flush with cold as her mana responded, eager and brimming. Yet, curiosity made her pause. _"Before I send you back to the Void, demon, what do I call you?"_

The false rage demon laughed in its hollow growl. _"Your ancestors called me the Formless One. But for you, child of Dirthamen, I shall be Raselan."_

The name could be translated as _agent of shadow._

"Well then, Raselan," Rosa said, grinning hard at it. "It's been a pleasure, but it's time you returned to the Void."

With a shout, Rosa Fade-stepped through the mock rage demon, freezing it as she passed. Whipping around with a flourish, she clenched her hand into a fist and jerked downward, casting winter's grasp. Frost coated the demon's skin, slowing it and turning it mostly white. It cackled, seemingly unperturbed by her attacks, and flung its own arms about, sending out another pulse through the Fade.

Feeling the ground tremble, rumbling even in her chest, Rosa refreshed her barrier and flung a fireball at the demon, Fade-stepping again to freeze it immediately after. As she popped out of the Fade-step, she blinked as she saw a wall of dust dissipating where the sandstone wall had been moments ago. Dark shapes appeared through it and she heard the humans exclaiming at the sight of her.

Apparently Raselan planned to make good on its promise to fight her in full view of the humans. Of course Rosa still suspected there'd be a hidden trap beyond what the demon had said of their "bargain." Spinning about, she launched chain lightning at the demon and then, with a thrust of her palm outward, she sent an ice spike through it.

The demon uttered another of its growling laughs, but did not speak as it hunched up, its core flaring brighter as it erupted into flame. Sparks shot from it and caught on the sand, igniting. It had summoned a barrier over itself, shimmering faintly blue.

Rosa dispelled it with a gesture and the demon gurgled, sinking into itself like a half melted, molten puddle. Yet it had not died so Rosa fought on, reaching deep within herself for the mana to sustain a blizzard spell. As the air temperature plummeted and snow began to freeze out of the air, Rosa sent another ice spike at Raselan. The demon shuddered, frost gleaming white-blue over its skin, but the fires inside it had not yet cooled.

Summoning Fade rock, Rosa flung the stone at him—small though it was without a staff to amplify it—and grinned with triumph when the blow knocked the demon over. But, suddenly and with a swiftness uncharacteristic of a rage demon, Raselan recovered and streaked toward her. The frost over its body evaporated in a white mist, leaving only the brilliant yellow of hot flames that shot out at Rosa.

With a yelp, Rosa ducked and rolled, then popped upright and Fade-stepped through Raselan, freezing it once more. Safely away from it, she intensified the blizzard spell, feeding it more mana even though the drain left her dizzy. Throwing up another barrier over herself, she whirled to face the demon—only to see that it had closed on her and was leaning close to spit fire at her.

Fade-stepping again to evade it, Rosa used winter's grasp once more and, puffing out a breath with effort, unleashed a mindblast. The spirit energy shattered the frost layer over the demon, making it slump into a molten puddle, burning at the edges. The acrid stink of something metallic or chemical burning made the inside of Rosa's nasal passageways sting. Her head pounded, her mana core throbbed in time with her heartbeat and her body broke out in a chilly sweat, muscles trembling.

_I'll hit mana burnout if I push it any further..._

Grunting, she cut off the blizzard spell at last and strafed sideways, cautious and hoping to keep distance between herself and the demon until she'd managed to regenerate enough mana for a new onslaught. She let her barrier decay, glinting and shimmering as it failed. Her shoulders heaved with each deep, fast breath, precious seconds ticking by.

Raselan, in its rage demon form, had diminished, going mostly brown and deep red. In a normal rage demon that'd be a sign it was tiring and would soon perish. But this was decidedly _not_ a typical rage demon, so this could be part of a trap somehow. Rosa clenched her jaw and steeled herself for the end of this fight, whatever it might be. Behind her, through the smoke and haze of dust, she was vaguely aware of the _shemlen_ watching her, mute but tense.

As Raselan hauled itself up, flexing, and rotated on its puddle-like lower extremities—or trunk, perhaps—Rosa let out a shout and sent another glimmering ice chunk flying at it. The demon stumbled at the impact and Rosa followed it up with Stone Fist, hurling Fade rock at it. The demon shuddered at that, bubbling and burning as it began to dissolve into the sand. Refusing to assume it was finished, Rosa advanced a few steps and used winter's grasp again, coating it in frost as the molten puddle froze. It sizzled a moment and then dissolved, vanishing into green Fade ether.

In the silence that followed, Rosa breathed hard, shoulders heaving. Her mouth was dry and her head still throbbing. She wiped at her brow and blinked through a wave of dizziness. The black clouds circling overhead vanished, revealing the blue sky tainted only with wisps of green clouds and the Black City. Behind her, Rosa heard the _shemlen_ bickering about something but didn't care what they said. As tired as her body was, she knew she needed to force herself awake and out of the Fade or risk being executed for "taking too long."

Sighing, Rosa pivoted round to the _shemlen_ and forced a smile to her lips as she strode toward them. "So…what now?"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Hey," Tal said and smacked his lips, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. "The last I checked, our people were losing the numbers game with the shemlen. So I rather think the People need more _incorrigible_ elves like me." Grinning, Tal looked to Solas. "Wouldn't you agree, falon?"

Letting the tension leave his shoulders, Solas chuckled. "I do indeed, falon. I wish you luck."

"Luck," Tal repeated, scoffing playfully. "Luck is for lesser men."

Rosa laughed, reaching over to slug her brother on the shoulder. "Too bad you share your bed with more men than women, _isamalin._ The last I checked, that didn't help with our numbers."

"On that I must concur as well," Solas added, smirking.

* * *

Original Author notes: So, ladies and gents, I'd like to introduce you to the Formless One, also known occasionally as Raselan. If you guys are anything like my beta, you're rather startled at this unexpected twist. Anyone have an idea why it wants her blood? Guesses as to what will happen next? Drop me a line!

As I've said, Rosa and her brother have a lot of secrets. :)


	16. Rosa the Circle Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How terrifying it must be to spend your life as something you do not believe you are." Felassan's voice held no mockery now. He spoke with a quiet sadness better suited to an old veteran. "All the heroic battles, the serving-girls following you to bed, and you can never truly enjoy it." –Felassan (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas, Tal, and Varric compare notes and learn what happened to Rosa. Solas is troubled by the mystery of just why a demon as ancient and powerful as the Formless One has such a keen interest in Rosa. Too bad Rosa won't tell him. Solas also touches base with his agent Felassan and can't help but feel concerned that his old friend is losing sight of their goals.

Solas spent another lunch with Tal and Varric, the three of them subdued with Rosa's continued absence. Tal looked gray and pallid, with rings beneath his eyes from exhaustion and stress. Ignoring Varric, Tal immediately spoke to Solas in elven as he sat down. _"She vanquished the demon. I only caught the end of the battle before I woke. I don't know if that means she passed."_

Varric watched them, one brow arched with interest though he said nothing.

Solas nodded to the younger elf. "Thank you."

Chewing on a hunk of chicken, Varric said, "So, I take it you two know something about Violet?"

"No," Solas lied and then, at Varric's look of annoyed disbelief, he hedged, "We caught glimpses in the Fade. But it is unclear. We do not know anything with certainty."

"Ah," the dwarf said with a somber nod. "I get it. Talked with enough mages over the years to know the Fade is less than reliable. Or safe for that matter."

Tal chuckled tiredly. "Tell me about it."

 _Indeed,_ Solas thought, suppressing a frown as he recalled the Formless One's dismissal of him, something that should have been impossible for it to do. Solas' own weakness shamed him. In Elvhenan, at full strength, he should've been the one with the power to dismiss the Formless One with will alone. Instead, one moment Solas had been in the Fade at Rosa's side, hoping to outwit or bargain with the demon, the next he'd been weightless in the dark only to sit bolt upright in his bed. Although he'd tried to return to the Fade immediately, the blue light of dawn was already peeking in through the windows of the apprentice barracks. Before he could slip into sleep the Tranquil and a Templar came by to release the apprentices and offer up breakfast.

Since then Solas had been trapped in classes as, beginning that morning, the mage who oversaw the apprentices recognized upon seeing him that his magic had returned. Instead of visiting the library for clerical duties he'd endured a lesson on Chantry rhetoric and history, then moved on to assessment by the First Enchanter. His mana reserves were pathetic, near-drained after only a spell or two, but with a pause of a few moments they'd recover. He hoped desperately that his miserable mana reserves would increase, much as his body was recovering, but for now this was better than nothing.

All through his assessment that morning, Solas had been distracted with wondering what fate had befallen Rosa—particularly what the Formless One wanted with her. He could not believe that such an ancient and powerful being would routinely prey on apprentices trying to pass their Harrowing. The First Enchanter and his brethren wouldn't summon a creature so powerful or unfamiliar. They'd seek out a relatively simple demon of rage, pride, fear, or envy.

The Formless One was none of those things and all of them. It had served the Forgotten Ones in Elvhenan as an agent of chaos, death, and disease. Solas assumed it still served them, though now it would at best hear only whispers from its masters, who'd been locked away in the Black Mirror within the Crossroads. If the Formless One still served the Forgotten Ones, Solas expected it'd try to coerce him into freeing its masters. Yet, seemingly, it had no interest in him. What had it told Rosa and why did it have such an interest in her?

The First Enchanter appeared fatigued during the assessment, but gave nothing away of what he'd seen that predawn morning in the Fade as he pronounced Solas well-trained and talented. He expressed curiosity as to who had trained Solas so thoroughly. Solas lied and claimed he'd been trained by the Dalish. That answer seemed to satisfy the First Enchanter and the other senior enchanters who were curious about him. Unlike Rosa, who'd been rather confrontational, Solas' demure and polite demeanor made the other mages friendly and encouraging.

Braden had recommended Solas undergo his Harrowing soon, once he'd had time to be fully reviewed by the mage instructors in matters of history, religion, and magical technique. Solas suspected that meant he'd remain an apprentice for about a week so that all the instructors could get a good read on his abilities and temperament.

"We won't see her if she passed," Tal mused aloud, not bothering to disguise what he said in elven.

Solas nodded. "That is true."

"Passed what?" Varric asked, picking over his chicken leg.

Solas exchanged a quick look with Tal and then said, "We believe she underwent her Harrowing."

Varric's eyes widened and he grunted with interest. "That's the one you mages have to go through to become members of the Circle proper, right?"

"Yep," Tal answered. "We have to face a demon and defeat it."

The dwarf shook his head, whistling. "Sounds like fun. But my money's on Violet. She's tough. I get that sense about her—and I know people."

"Yeah," Tal said, brightening somewhat. "I figure when it's my turn, I'll just talk the demon to death. But Rosa probably beat the stuffing out of the one she met." He sighed, poking dejectedly at his own chicken. "Trouble is, we won't know because the apprentices and the mages don't really comingle unless it's in a class."

Varric wiped the chicken grease off his mouth on his sleeve and then grinned at Tal. "Oh, I'm sure there's ways around that particular problem, Stoic. Seems to me the Seeker and the Knight-Commander think the mages have the full run of the tower come night. Supposedly."

"No we don't," Tal said, frowning. "We get locked in the barracks every night."

"Perhaps the Seeker and the Knight-Commander mean it is only enchanters and mages who have this supposed full run of the tower," Solas suggested. "The tower is certainly labyrinthine. I would undoubtedly become lost in an unfamiliar section of it or a level I was not accustomed to. I suspect the apprentices all feel this way, but the mages see far more of the tower and have greater freedom." He paused, smiling with enjoyment as the idea grew within his mind. "If certain…little-used and hard to find passageways exist, it is far more likely the mages and enchanters are the ones using them. As to what they use them for, that is truly anyone's guess."

"Sex," Tal suggested smirking. "It's always sex." Looking to Varric, he grinned. "You can tell your Seeker that the next time she complains about nefarious mages and secret passageways. I mean, does she _really_ want to disrupt the tiny bit of fun we mages get to partake in?"

Varric chuckled dryly and then, deadpan, he answered, "Yes. She _definitely_ does."

"Well," Tal said, grabbing his chicken and preparing to take a bite. "If you get wind of any of these secret passageways, I want to know where they are. I'd love to see Rosa and make sure she's all right."

 _As would I,_ Solas thought.

"I got nothing on secret passageways used by mages plotting rebellion," Varric said as he returned what was left of the chicken leg to his tray and snatched a napkin to wipe off his fingers and mouth. "But I _did_ hear that the Seeker got a raven in from the Divine. Seems there's trouble in Orlais."

"Did the nobles run out of cheese and wine?" Tal asked, scoffing. "Scandalous."

Varric laughed. "That's probably part of it—but, sadly, no. There's apparently some kind of rebellion in Halamshiral. An _elven_ rebellion."

Solas shot Varric a look of interest as he chewed his own meal, focusing on the vegetables. Tal, meanwhile, snorted again. "Good on them. Killing shems is fun. My clan used to do it every chance we got."

Now Varric's lips twisted with displeasure, apparently trying to mask minor offence. Noticing it, Tal added, "Don't worry. They always deserved it. Bandits and poachers and ruffians who thought killing Dalish was some kind of sport. We made sure they learned otherwise." Frowning into his tray, he added in a quieter voice, "Of course, it was usually the _last_ thing they learned."

"Did your clan come under attack a lot?" Varric asked.

Tal nodded grimly. "We lived in Orlais and the Dales. So, yeah. If humans want to hunt Dalish, they go to the Dales because they think most of us still live there."

Varric clucked his tongue, making a face. "Sorry to hear that, Stoic. Sometimes it feels like us nonhumans really have a target painted on our backs."

"You said it," Tal agreed glumly.

 _Elven rebellion in Halamshiral,_ Solas thought, noting it as something to pass along to his agent Felassan, who was still in Orlais.

* * *

After dinner—during which Varric informed both Solas and Tal that he'd seen Rosa eating with the mages—Solas moved into Rosa's abandoned bunk to be nearer to Tal. While the other apprentices went through the usual nighttime routines and squabbling over the water closet and bath, they sat together on Rosa's bottom bunk and spoke quietly in elven. Although Tal looked exhausted and eager for sleep, Solas decided to press him for clues regarding the demon. He couldn't help but wonder if Tal had overheard something though he claimed not to have seen the fight.

" _The demon Rosa faced was not what I expected,"_ he said, reclining with his back against the cold stone wall. _"I do not believe she could have truly defeated it."_

Tal stared at him, features clouding with something akin to anger. _"Are you saying you think she struck a deal with it?"_ he asked, a note of insult in his voice. _"Because she was willing to let Rogathe possess her?"_

" _No, no,"_ Solas quickly said, shaking his head and raising one hand up in a motion of _stop._ "Nothing like that," he said, slipping into common because he knew Tal sometimes seemed to stumble over the elven words when he became emotional. It was definitely his second language and not his milk tongue. The same, Solas had noted, could not be said for Rosa.

Tal cocked his head, perplexed. "Then what?"

Licking his lips, Solas spoke slowly and quietly. _"You know that your sister and I are both Dreamers. As such, we are sensitive to demons, more so than most mages. The demon waiting for her in the ruins was…a relic. Of the ancients."_ At Tal's continued expression of bemusement, Solas sighed and changed tactics. _"It was akin to a god among demons."_

Tal's brow furrowed. "Really?"

"Yes," Solas confirmed with a somber nod. _"Defeating such a beast would be impossible for a single mage, but I don't believe the demon sought to kill or possess her. In fact, it said as much to us both."_

Tal scowled. _"Except it had to be lying. Demons are always lying."_

" _Not necessarily. A being as ancient as this one is as cunning and multi-faceted as any mortal. I am certain it wanted something of her, of course, but I cannot hope to understand what as I doubt Rosa will tell me."_ He paused a moment, eyeing the younger elf who stared at him blankly, but his eyes were keen and sharp. Either he was listening as a dutiful student or he was struggling to hide inner knowledge. Tal was a consummate actor, so Solas couldn't be sure which it was. _"Do you know why a demon older than the fall of Arlathan would be interested in your sister?"_

Tal puckered his lips as if he'd tasted something bitter and then flashed a lopsided smile. _"Nope."_

This time, despite the fact Solas knew Tal could be deceptive, it seemed obvious the youth was lying. The micro-expression of lip puckering and the fluttery, evasive look in his brown eyes gave it away clearly enough. Solas hesitated, considering pressing Tal further but decided against it for now. If Rosa wouldn't tell him, well, then he'd have to try Tal again.

"Pity," Solas murmured in common. "I do so despise mysteries of this nature."

"Me too," Tal commiserated, making a face that was both frown and smile somehow. "But maybe Rosa knows? I'm sure you can get the truth out of her." He winked at Solas and then sighed as he scooted out of the bunk and stood upright, stretching. "I'm going to bed, Revas. See you in the morning."

"And you, _falon_ ," Solas returned and found, with a warm smile, that he meant it.

It was only a few minutes later that a Templar toured through the barracks and then shuttered them inside for the night. Solas was asleep and slipping into the Fade before the lights were doused, his last thoughts of meeting Rosa in the Fade to uncover what the Formless One had wanted from her...

The crackling sound of flames filled Solas' ears and the scent of wood smoke tickled his nose. Opening his eyes, Solas saw that he stood in the deep shadows at the edge of a small clearing in a pine forest. Snow crunched under his feet as he turned round and saw the orange light of a campfire, a few meters away in the clearing. He heard quiet voices and recognized the two dark shapes sitting beside the fire—Rosa and Tal. His inner senses told him these were not spirits or demons, but sleepers, and one of them had the weighty sensation that marked a Dreamer.

Slowly, Solas made his way through the trees to join the siblings at the fire. Rosa looked up first, flashing him a bright smile. _"Aneth ara,"_ she greeted him with a laugh.

"It is good to see you, lethallan," Solas said, returning her smile as he sat at the campfire. A tripod of sticks had been erected over it and supported a pot that boiled with some kind of stew. It smelled of herbs, onions, and rabbit. "I see you have not spared on any detail. Whose dream is this?"

"Mine, of course," Rosa said, shrugging as she lifted her hand and conjured a stick from Fade ether to poke at the fire and the cooking pot. "The Templars starved me for a day and a half, you know. After the Harrowing was over they gave me some bread and water, begrudgingly congratulated me on not dying, and then sent me off to bed. Needless to say, after my fight in the Fade, the bread was just a cruel tease. So, I dreamed up this fabulous meal. You know, because now I'm Circle royalty compared to you lot."

Setting the stick aside, she straightened her back and thrust her chin in the air with a mock-haughtiness that made Solas smirk and Tal laugh. "You both are now to address me as Mage Rosa. I get to sleep in a room with only three other people now. A real upgrade. I might as well be a shem-noble." Laying a hand over her chest, she sniffed arrogantly. "I will set your coattails afire from now on if you do not scrape and grovel to my satisfaction."

"Oh, forgive my intolerable manners," Tal said, hopping up and bending over double to bow exaggeratedly. "Madam, please spare me your wrath for my uncouthness."

Rosa laughed at him and, with a push at the air, she sent a splash of water conjured from Fade-ether into his face. Tal fell backward, spluttering and glaring a moment until he started to laugh with her. Solas watched them, smiling warmly and shaking his head.

"I am grateful you triumphed and passed your Harrowing," Solas said with a nod to Rosa as the siblings' laughter eased. "But I am concerned at the cost. That demon was not one you could have defeated without an army at your disposal."

Rosa sobered, staring at him across the fire. The orange light glittered in her violet eyes, casting harsh shadows in the contours. "You seem to know a great deal about it, Revas. What can you tell me about the demon?"

The coy smile spread over her lips and Solas bit back the desire to scowl with displeasure. Focusing on the fire, he admired the color of the tongues of flame and inhaled the scent of the cooking stew as he panned through his mind and memories, seeking something safe to say. Pinching his lips together, he said, "Surely you could sense the demon's power, lethallan? You are not so arrogant or foolish to believe you could have defeated it?"

"You didn't answer her," Tal observed, brow furrowing. "How do you really know Rosa didn't defeat it? Neither of us saw the battle…"

Solas clenched his jaw, gaze flicking between brother and sister. They had allied against him, apparently. Unless he could come up with a convincing way that he knew of this demon, he'd have to relent in this line of questioning or reveal that he was not the half-Dalish wandering apostate he'd claimed to be. Rosa had already long since suspected as much, but Solas couldn't risk revealing it for fear that once she saw that truth she'd unravel the rest of his past.

And with that thought cold dread seized him by the throat with an iron grip as he wondered what the Formless One had already told Rosa. He could almost hear its sharp, disembodied androgynous voice saying, _'You keep unusual company, child of Dirthamen. Did you know your companion is a trickster? The Dread Wolf himself?'_

Thinking quickly, despite his dread, Solas said, "I have encountered powerful demons before in ancient ruins. Some were bound as guardians; others merely roamed the Fade freely. They can be deadly creatures, but more likely they are tricksters seeking entertainment and amusement. There is usually no harm in merely speaking with them and most do not attack on sight." This was true for the most part, which lent him the confidence and clarity of his explanation.

Continuing, he added, "I have not encountered this specific demon, but I recognize its ilk and know I would be no match for it in single combat." _That_ was a lie in both aspects. He _had_ met the Formless One before, numerous times in fact. And, at full strength, he could have held his own against the Formless One and even one of its masters the Forgotten Ones, though the fight would be challenging even for him. The Evanuris had been unable to completely eradicate or control the Forgotten Ones despite combining forces, after all.

Rosa still wore the coy smile, but now Solas thought he detected a tightening around her eyes that wasn't from humor. _Stress?_ He wasn't sure. Tal, meanwhile, simply appeared intrigued with his palm cupping his chin as he leaned his elbows forward onto his knees.

"So," Solas went on, slow and careful, "I have some measure of experience interacting with these beings. If one is cautious, they can be informative wellsprings of ancient knowledge, being immortal as they are. Generally speaking, the older the spirit, the stronger it is. This one was very powerful. Wouldn't you agree, Rosa?"

She nodded once. "I would."

Digging in now, Solas said, "I was present when it told you it had no desire to possess or harm you. Naturally, then, I suspect it offered you a bargain in exchange for its help in deceiving the humans observing your Harrowing."

Rosa scowled, nostrils flaring and brow knitting as she turned her head away, staring into the darkness of the snowy woods off to the side of their dream-camp. The silence dragged on, thick and heavy.

Sitting beside his sister, Tal shifted and cleared his throat, casting a glare Solas' way. "Way to dampen the mood, Revas."

Solas bristled. "If you are not concerned by the matter at hand then it is clear you do not understand it. The demon has the power, will, and knowledge to be truly dangerous in both the waking world and the Fade. Its interest in Rosa is alarming, to say the least." Pinning Rosa—who still wouldn't meet his eye—with a glare, Solas added, "Do you have any inkling as to why this ancient demon would target you? I doubt it stalks apprentices undergoing their Harrowing regularly."

Now her head turned slightly, her violet eyes pivoting to land on him and narrow. "Tell me something, Revas." Her lips quirked downward. "Why did the demon call you Prideful One?"

The lie came easily to Solas' lips. "In my youth that name would have been an apt moniker. I was hotheaded and brash. I suspect the demon was—"

Tal cut him off. "Rogathe called you Pride too."

Forcing a polite smile onto his lips, Solas glanced to Tal and nodded to acknowledge him. "Yes, it did. For the same reason, I suspect." He swallowed, aware of the sudden sweat that'd broken out over his back and around his neck. It made him itchy but he refused to scratch. Tal was very observant and had a fantastic memory, at least when not mildly intoxicated. He filed that away as an important side note: _Do not underestimate Tal._

Rosa's expression with the tight, coy smile, told Solas he hadn't convinced her. She shifted in her spot, pulling one knee up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it. "All right, Prideful One. You want to know what the demon asked for?" She snatched up the stick she'd used to prod the fire earlier and it transformed into a dagger. With a grunt, she stabbed it down into the dirt beside the fire. "It wanted a choice. I repay it for its help or it punishes me in some unpleasant way involving the Templars."

"What choice?" Solas prodded, leaning closer despite the blazing heat of the fire. "How did it wish to be repaid?"

She fingered the handle, which was inlaid with the bluish hue of ironbark. "You don't need to know that. The decision is mine to make."

"It targeted you," Solas reminded her. "Why?"

She glared at him, gripping the handle of the dagger in the sand as if considering using it on him. "Why do you know so much about ancient demons?" she countered in a growl.

"I've told you," Solas retorted. "I have—"

"Why do you know so much about the dreaming?" she continued, gesturing at the Fade around them, her volume rising even as her tone dropped with anger. "Why are you so frightened of the foci even though you claim you know nothing about it?"

"Because I can recognize a threat when I see one," Solas snapped. "And I know about the Fade because it is my birthright as a Dreamer, just as it is yours!"

"No," Rosa said sharply, shaking her head. "We aren't born knowing it. Who taught you? You said you were a wandering apostate. You expect me to believe you're self-taught?"

Baring his teeth in frustration as he felt heat lick up his cheeks all the way to his ear tips, Solas made an upward slashing motion of one hand to indicate her. "And what of you?" he demanded, scoffing. "I have told you I studied Tevinter texts and spoke with spirits to learn what I know. How did _you_ come by your extensive knowledge?"

Tal groaned suddenly, rolling his eyes. "Would you both just _kiss_ already? I'm sick of listening to this Dreamer mage pissing match."

Solas glared at the younger man, lips parted slightly with surprise even as his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed in a glare. Rosa simply glowered at her brother with disapproval. Breaking the silence, Solas asked, "Pardon…?"

Ignoring Solas' question, Tal stabbed a finger at Rosa. _"Asamalin,_ let Revas be. He's helped us repeatedly and doesn't deserve your suspicion."

Rosa snorted and muttered under her breath, "Mythal preserve me…"

Turning to regard Solas now, Tal pointed to him as he said, "And you, Revas, leave Rosa alone. She's right that whatever the demon wanted is her business." He shuddered then, as if cold, and wrapped his arms about himself. "I only hope that it's not waiting for me when my Harrowing comes."

Beside him, Rosa averted her eyes, staring into the fire with a troubled expression. Solas watched her, suspicions churning inside him. _Why did the Formless One target her?_ The question dug into him like a barbed arrow or like caustic spirit magic, damaging him long after the event was already finished. If he knew anything about the Forbidden Ones and the Forgotten Ones it was that dealings with them always had consequences. Rosa was in potentially grave danger and her refusal to seek his guidance on the matter could very well get her killed.

Abruptly, Rosa cleared her throat and spoke into the sullen silence that'd descended over them, addressing Tal. _"Isamalin,_ if you meet this demon…you must not give it what it asks. It will punish you, but you mustn't…" She broke off, swallowing as her voice cracked.

"Punish me?" Tal asked, arching an eyebrow. After a beat he put on a lascivious leer. "Will I like this punishment? Is it naughty?"

"By Sylaise," Rosa said, laughing. "You are incorrigible."

"Hey," Tal said and smacked his lips, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. "The last I checked, our people were losing the numbers game with the _shemlen_. So I rather think the People need more _incorrigible_ elves like me." Grinning, Tal looked to Solas. "Wouldn't you agree, _falon_?"

Letting the tension leave his shoulders, Solas chuckled. "I do indeed, _falon._ I wish you luck."

"Luck," Tal repeated, scoffing playfully. "Luck is for lesser men."

Rosa laughed, reaching over to slug her brother on the shoulder. "Too bad you share your bed with more men than women, _isamalin._ The last I checked, that didn't help with our numbers."

"On that I must concur as well," Solas added, smirking.

Tal grunted and shrugged. "I'll get around to the numbers thing along the way." He elbowed Rosa, chuckling dryly. "Just like _lenalin."_

Rosa groaned, making a face of disgust. "How about _no_."

"Oh _asamalin,_ " Tal said with a theatrical sigh as he leaned into her and wound one arm over her. "You're no fun at all. You and Revas both."

Only half-listening to their bantering, Solas considered the tiny, precious mana coiling in his core and the promise it represented that he would recover, _was_ recovering. As pleasant and intriguing as spending time with the Dalish siblings was, Solas had vital and important things to do elsewhere. He remembered Zevanni and the Grey Warden she'd been interrogating in the Fade, learning the tantalizing news of a darkspawn magister that'd been freed from his sealed tomb and now headed a Tevinter supremacist cult. The magister might possess interesting knowledge or may have hoarded precious magical relics Zevanni could plunder—but there was a growing thought spinning within Solas' mind.

He wasn't strong enough to unlock his own foci safely to gain access to the Anchor, which would allow him to enter the Fade physically with ease. Even if he could manage it currently, Solas couldn't be certain channeling so much mana after having so little wouldn't kill him. His body was mortal with the Veil in place, holding back the restorative nature of the Fade and its magic. He couldn't take such a risk with his life. If he died then his agents would have no hope of saving the Elvhen people or restoring the Fade by destroying the Veil.

But a darkspawn magister would likely have the knowledge and power to unlock the orb. He'd understand it as no other human could in modern Thedas, because in ancient Tevinter Elvhen artifacts had still been commonly used, though they were rebranded first. And—knowing the magister was probably sadistic and villainous—he'd probably be overjoyed at the prospect of unlocking the foci in some nefarious plot…

And there was the ongoing need to check in with Felassan, who had been spotty with communication for years now. According to Zevanni, Felassan hadn't made contact with her in quite some time and wasn't in the Fade whenever she'd looked. Could he be avoiding Zevanni and Solas himself? Or was he just busy and distracted and far away from both of them? The vast distance between Tevinter and Orlais might be enough that Felassan couldn't check in without the advent of lyrium to enhance his connection to the Fade. He'd been a strong Dreamer in Elvhenan, but the Veil had weakened him more than it had Zevanni.

Feeling a prickle of unease, Solas rose to his feet. "If you'll excuse me," he said to the siblings. "I fear I must bid you both goodnight."

Tal smiled at him, yawning. "Sure. See you tomorrow morning, Revas."

But Rosa's eyes narrowed with suspicion and lingering animosity from their heated exchange earlier. "Where are you off to?" she asked.

"You asked once if I would ever aid you in managing the mages' dreams as we try to stir rebellion," Solas reminded her, smiling slightly. "I have begun recovering and now I intend to make up for lost time."

"Sure," Tal groused. " _Now_ you feel great in the Fade. Probably because you had to draw all my mana out the last two nights."

" _Ir abelas_ ," Solas apologized with a sympathetic grimace. "I had no choice."

"Well," Tal said, smiling and winking at him. "I forgive you, even though there's nothing to forgive."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Solas replied and nodded to the younger man and then to Rosa. "I will see you both tomorrow, either in the dreaming or—"

"When's your religious class?" Rosa interrupted him.

"In the morning," Solas answered, trying to ignore the lance of irritation that cut through him at her repeated delaying of his departure. Did she suspect him of something nefarious?

"First or second class?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"First," he told her.

She nodded. "Maybe I'll stop by and steal you away sometime. You can't say no to a full-fledged Circle mage, lowly apprentice flat-ear." She smirked, though the amusement didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Indeed," Solas told her and then motioned at the dark woods. "I shall take my leave now."

" _Dareth shiral,_ " Tal called after him as he began walking into the forest.

Rosa piped up as well with: "And may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."

Solas' step faltered at her words for a beat before he resumed, scowling and shaking his head as a cold sweat broke out over his body. _What did the Formless One tell her?_

Perhaps after seeking Felassan he would risk trying to find the demon to see if he could puzzle that out.

* * *

Solas found Felassan in a simple dream that recreated his campsite, complete with a small fire and the sharp scent of herbs used in Elvhenan to induce deep dreaming. He sat against a tree that had mostly shed its leaves, green Fade-ether twining up from the ground around the fire and Felassan himself. With his hood up and his head slumped down so that his chin could rest against his chest Solas could see nothing of the other man's face.

Felassan had struggled since waking to connect with the Fade confidently and it showed in the minimalist nature of his dreams. From just outside the hazy circle of light from Felassan's campfire, Solas could see the other Elvhen man's pack and basic survival gear and cooking supplies. A hunting knife sat on a stone off to the right of the fire, the bloodstains on it glinting in the orange-green light. It was oddly coincidental how similar Felassan's dream was with Rosa and Tal's. Solas could smell the leftovers of cooked meat in the thick air of the Fade and bit the inside of his cheek as distracting thoughts of Rosa and Tal flitted through his mind, wondering again about the Formless One's interest in Rosa.

Felassan drew in a breath, just loud enough for Solas to hear over the gentle crackle of the fire. "Is it the Wolf that prowls through this dream?" he asked in a light, almost playful voice. "Or is it the man?"

Solas smiled slightly, though there was no chance Felassan would see him where he still lurked in the dark. When Felassan was jovial he usually had good news to report.

Striding out into the flickering orange-green light of Felassan's campfire, Solas tucked his hands behind his back in a loose fist—a posture of authority. "Do not ask questions you already know the answer to, _da'len,"_ he said. "What progress have you made with the eluvians?"

Felassan raised his head, his eyes glittering in the firelight. He wore Mythal's vallaslin, although his tattoo was a fake as he'd made the ink himself with no blood—although he _had_ sought out a Keeper to apply the tattoo. The vallaslin was a strategic choice in camouflage to ensure Dalish clans were more receptive of him.

"I have seen to it that clan Virnehn uncovered a hidden entrance in the Dales." His lips curled in a smug smile. "They, of course, leapt at the chance to uncover a few bits of broken pottery and some dusty old Elvhen bones."

"Naturally," Solas said, nodding. He'd heard reports about clan Virnehn before and knew Felassan had been ingratiating himself to them and working with these Dalish elves for years. It was long, tedious work but with a huge prize as its goal. Coming to that point, Solas asked, "And what of reactivating the eluvian network?"

Now Felassan's lips parted as his smile became more of a grimace. "Therein lies the problem. Thelhen may be obsessed with uncovering the past, but he's as stubborn as a halla and as stupid as a sack of rocks." Smirking, he added, "Sadly, he's not as useful as a halla so he doesn't make up for it that way."

"Stay on topic," Solas chided him gently. Felassan had complained bitterly more than once about this particular Keeper—Thelhen.

Felassan's brow furrowed slightly, the only sign he was irritated by Solas' scolding, but he moved on swiftly. "Thelhen believes with every fiber of his being that _shemlen_ are what stole our immortality. As a result, he refuses to interact with them. I've repeatedly played retriever for him to obtain items he requires that can only come from the humans, but it's taken an infuriating amount of time. Truly, I watched empires crumble faster than Thelhen's plans and spellcrafting coming to fruition."

Solas resisted the desire to frown at that comment. _Empires crumbling…_

Felassan shifted his back against the tree, sitting more upright. "Furthermore, the old fool refuses to believe me when I tell him that summoning a powerful, ancient demon is, in fact, a very _stupid_ thing to do."

Solas arched an eyebrow. "He intends to summon a demon to gain access to the eluvians?"

"Yes," Felassan confirmed. "And if he manages the summoning correctly, my guess is he'll pull a _very_ ancient someone from the Fade." His smile was hard and humorless. "Of the type that consorted with certain so-called friends of yours."

"And which _friends_ would that be?" Solas asked as he knelt on the opposite side of Felassan's small campfire.

Felassan's vallaslin moved as the muscles around his eyes tightened with amusement. "I believe these friends of yours are presently idling away their days in permanent exile in the Void."

"Ah," Solas said, humming in the back of his throat. " _Those_ friends. How interesting." The "friends" Felassan meant were the Forgotten Ones rather than the Evanuris. As the Forgotten Ones were locked away, that meant Felassan suspected that Keeper Thelhen would wind up summoning one of the Forbidden Ones. How…coincidental. Perhaps the Formless One's interest in Rosa somehow related back to this?

"Yes, that's what I thought. I'm inclined to let Thelhen learn his lesson the hard way." Felassan grinned. "It would be an entertaining, though messy, way to test exactly how strong Thelhen's spirit-trap runes are. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Solas agreed, but frowned. "Except that we need the Keeper and his clan, _da'len."_ The diminutive _da'len_ lingered in the air between them, a reminder to them both that although Felassan had noticeably aged in appearance since waking post-Veil, it was Solas who was the respected elder here by several centuries at least.

Felassan clucked his tongue. "Yes, except for that annoying detail, _hahren._ How could I have forgotten?" Felassan would need members of clan Virnehn to accompany him through the eluvian network whenever they finally obtained the missing keystone from the Fade. Solas knew Felassan had hoped to combine magical strength with several other Dalish elves to force the old magic of the eluvians to switch on without a keystone—which was, apparently, in the hands of one of the Forbidden Ones—but apparently the other clans in Orlais had refused.

Dipping his head slightly, hiding his face and eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, Felassan cleared his throat and added, in a tighter, more hesitant voice, "There is another matter as well. My ward, Briala, has been fighting to improve the lives of the city elves in Orlais. There's been some shenanigans by the shemlen over the Orlesian throne and—"

Solas made a cutting motion with his hand. "I have no interest in Orlesian politics unless they aid us in some way with regard to the eluvians." He narrowed his eyes at Felassan across the fire, letting the other Elvhen man see his irritation. Felassan had used Briala's spying tidbits over the years to aid the Dalish clans, protecting them from nobles out joyriding for instance. She had been helpful in that respect, but beyond that Solas saw no reason to listen to drivel about Orlais.

Felassan raised his head again, his own eyes narrowed slightly though his mouth curled in a tight smile. If Solas hadn't known the other elf for centuries—having even taught him as an adolescent—he might've mistaken it for politeness. Instead, Solas saw masked disapproval and annoyance.

"You disagree?" he asked, voice sharp.

"I said no such thing." Felassan's smile widened as he apparently sought levity. "But I may have _thought_ it rather loudly."

"Then I would advise you to change those thoughts," Solas said, cutting his agent a warning glare, refusing to be swayed by Felassan's dry humor. "Lest I find myself questioning whether you have forgotten your purpose and become distracted by this shadow world."

"I will never forget my purpose, _hahren,"_ Felassan said, brow furrowing and voice earnest, though tight as well. Solas could almost feel the tension thrumming in the Fade between them. Felassan knew the price of disobedience would be severe.

…Assuming Solas had the talent currently to administer it. Solas' chest constricted at the thought, realizing that he could not risk revealing his weakness or present position to Felassan. Doing so might only encourage the other man to disobey, knowing punishment would not come and that Solas could not come after him all that quickly.

Felassan spoke again, haltingly. "But, I wonder if it is not possible for me to take action to better the lives of the shem-elves…when it does not conflict with my mission, of course."

Clenching his jaw, Solas averted his gaze to stare off into the Fade-ether twining about the barren tree branches at the edge of the campsite. He recalled Rosa's violet eyes, sharp with intelligence and wit and pain in the dreams he'd shared with her. He pictured Tal's long-featured face and catlike grace and his humor, all of which would've fit in so well in Arlathan's court. He heard Rogathe's voice repeat, _"_ All _of them are real."_

Relenting, Solas let his shoulders slouch slightly and saw the immediate brightening in Felassan's mood in response. "I agree, _da'len._ " Shifting slightly, he leaned closer and dropped his voice into a conspiratorial range. "In fact, I may be able to provide you some aid in this matter." He smiled slightly. "I have learned there is an elven rebellion within Halamshiral."

Felassan's brow arched in response. "Indeed?"

"I do not know how old this news may be," Solas hedged. "But I suspect it may be valuable to your ward and, assuming it does not delay you, I see no harm in sharing it."

Now Felassan grinned. "I would never have suspected that Fen'Harel of all people would delight in rebellion!"

Solas chuckled. "Yes, I am the very image of peace and prosperity."

"As I'm certain Elgar'nan and Falon'Din would agree," Felassan quipped. "If only we could consult them via the dreaming." He hummed in the back of his throat. "I do wonder what ever happened to our illustrious, so-called Creators?"

"Nothing they did not dearly deserve," Solas answered, almost growling. With a sigh, he stood upright, preparing to take his leave. Facing Felassan, he sobered as something in the other elf's stare—or something unseen but sensed passed between them in the Fade—made his stomach clench cold with dread. "Do not stray from your purpose, _da'len,"_ he warned again, his voice deep and dark. "We cannot waver in what must be done and time is ever against us without the Fade."

Felassan's tight smile returned. "Waver?" He snorted. "I do not know the meaning of the word."

"Do not jest," Solas warned him, glaring. His stomach remained cold and taut.

Sobering, Felassan stared at him, unflinching. "Did I waver, _hahren,_ when we erected the Veil? Did I waver when I knew we must let Mythal die or be routed ourselves?" He broke off, sucking in a shaky breath as his eyes drifted to the fire, a touch too bright. "She was like a mother to me, but I knew you were right. We could not save her without abandoning our cause and our cause was just…"

 _Is,_ Solas thought, sensing something hidden underlying Felassan's words. _Our cause remains just._ He wanted to speak it aloud, but hesitated, unwilling to admonish Felassan further for fear of alienating him. He'd already spent so long awake with the strangling grip of mortality at his neck that it could have dulled his memories of Elvhenan, of the world whole with the Fade. It could have changed his heart. And Solas had spent almost all of it asleep, unable to do anything but touch base with him via dreams occasionally.

" _Ir abelas, da'len,"_ Solas told him, his voice softer now as he pushed those darker thoughts away. "I know it is difficult, but the time is nearly upon us. Our struggle will soon be finished and there will no longer be any need to concern ourselves with the plight of the shem-elves."

Felassan nodded. As you say, _hahren._ It will be done."

* * *

Elven Used:

 _Lenalin:_ "male parent"

 _Dareth shiral:_ Be safe/safe journeys

Asamalin/Isamalin: Sister/Brother

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Rosa leaned closer to him, her lips drawing back from her teeth in a savage flash of something akin to anger, but not directed at _him_. "The demon wanted your blood; I don't know why. But do you know what I told it?"

Solas turned his head slightly, staring at her obliquely, barely daring to breathe. His throat seemed to have seized up; gripped with cold dread and…something else he didn't dare name. It thrummed in the Fade between them, warm and fluttering and fierce and defiant. He wasn't certain what was his emotion, hers, or both.

"I told it I'd never give it what it wanted, Void take it." Pressing closer still, Solas felt the breath of her words brush over his skin and his heart started pounding frantically. Despite this being the Fade, her shoulders felt firm beneath his hands, her scent washing over him and stirring that foolish, delicious longing within him. The taciturn survivor within him screamed at him to pull away, to reject her. Clashing with his raw want, it left him motionless and dumbfounded, though his eyes dropped repeatedly to her lips and then to her eyes, still seeking permission for a kiss he could never take.

* * *

Original author note (responding to a reviewer from FFnet):

Many thanks again to [] for your review! Yes, Solas isn't as good at keeping his secrets secret here for several reasons, I'd say. First he is so freshly woken he's flying by the seat of his pants, definitely! But I also had to have him consider his surroundings. The Circle will NOT tolerate him being a Fade-expert the way the Inquisition would, so he has to keep that under wraps early on. In the Inquisition he can come forward with that as an asset because of the Breach. A Fade-expert is suddenly just what the DR ordered there. But in the Circle it's just going to draw Templar ire.

And then, of course, there's Rosa, who he is just not prepared for! I always felt like in Inquisition if we could have just pressed him a bit more at several key points his story there would have started to look really thin or outright crumble. In _The Masked Empire_ Briala basically does that with Felassan, needling him, and he ultimately breaks and admits he isn't Dalish. So, in making Rosa, I wanted a character who would ask those tough questions from him, like Briala. That's my thinking process behind this, anyway.

Writing this prequel meant taking on Felassan, and, oddly, I've felt really anxious about it! Returning to The Masked Empire, I began to get a sense that he's grown tired of what he's doing. I also got to thinking about the events of The Masked Empire from Solas' perspective and decided...Fen'Harel had probably been disappointed in Felassan for a while. Felassan basically reveals the power of the eluvians to Celene and Gaspard, who both dream of using the mirrors for themselves. I suspect Solas didn't appreciate that. So, I presented that here.

Anyway, how about that next chapter preview, eh? Are you guys ready for some ROMANCE? Hahaha!


	17. Tal's Harrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your Circle was a tightly clamped lid on a boiling pot. It held for a while, and, unless you looked inside, it all seemed fine. And everyone feigned surprise when it finally burst."—Solas (Dragon Age Inquisition, party banter)
> 
> Solas seeks out and confronts the Formless One, only to be interrupted by Templars arriving to take Tal for his Harrowing. Solas, Rosa, and Rogathe help Tal face an envy demon.

The next day passed uneventfully as Solas attended his various classes, but in the afternoon he joined a course that actually practiced magic and the day grew more exciting from there. He shared the course with Tal and two dozen other apprentices, all of them learning basic-level spells in the four schools of magic.

Tal had clearly been one of the favorites and his face beamed as he twirled his stave and cast spell after spell at the instructor's command. Though Tal had said his Keeper never trained him, Solas saw little evidence that the youth hadn't been tutored early and often by _someone_ throughout his life. Other apprentices, far younger and timid, watched him with the same awe and timidity they reserved for their teacher.

Solas tried to be demure when the instructor had him mount the podium for individual assessment, but his long years of experience quickly took over. The joy of magic sang through his blood, even though the mana reserves within him were puny, and Solas' mind narrowed down to a razor's focus of himself, the stave, the dummy he aimed spells at, and the teacher's instruction.

"Winter's grasp," the teacher, a human woman named Yvette, shouted.

Solas acted even before she finished speaking, clenching a fist and spinning the staff. He held it up, balanced on his arm and on his back, and barely felt the stiffness and aching of his muscles through the pounding delight of magic. A layer of white frost gripped the dummy and fog rose around it as the cold reacted to the warmth of the room.

"Immolate!" Thrusting out a hand, Solas called fire, switching without hesitation between the opposite schools. An orange-red glow formed beneath the dummy for an eye blink and then burst into flame, which Solas swiftly doused with an idle wave of his hand.

"Mindblast!" Solas reached within himself to draw out the mana for the spell and then, suddenly, paused as a wave of dizziness made him sway on the podium. He was low on mana. He sucked in a breath, eyes closing as he tried to regain control and come out of the fugue of spell casting.

"Mindblast," the teacher repeated, but her voice was gentle.

Feeling his mana recovering, Solas reached inward again and hunched up as he let the mindblast explode outward. The podium's runes absorbed the energy of the spell, dissipating it with a slight hiss as the runes activated. Distantly, Solas heard the other apprentices whispering with approval, apparently impressed despite his pause.

"You recover remarkably fast," Yvette said with an approving nod at him. "And you have brilliant control."

"My thanks," Solas told her blankly, still staring at the dummy and maintaining a battle ready stance.

"You've seen combat," Yvette added. "That much is obvious as well."

Now Solas made an effort to relax and clutch the stave as a walking stick instead as he stared at the teacher and tried not to frown at how easily he'd let her read him. "The life of an apostate ensured I saw combat more than I'd like," he hedged. "Bandits, wild animals…"

"Templars?" Yvette asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No," Solas answered truthfully. "I have never fought Templars. I was very cautious and stayed in the wilds so as never to encounter them."

Yvette's gaze held something dark and…intriguing. She grunted and edged closer to the podium, speaking conspiratorially, "I can't help but be curious how you'd stand up to one of them."

"Poorly," Solas said with a frown, also quietly. "At least in my current condition."

"Well," Yvette said, withdrawing back a step. "I suppose we'll never know now, will we?" Yet her tone suggested otherwise.

Solas nodded to her politely.

Yvette turned from the podium then to the other apprentices, all standing about the training hall and individually practicing the motions of spell casting. "Tal," she called and when the young elf glanced up from his spot sparring with a young boy of no more than twelve, Yvette motioned for him to come to her.

Tal smiled at his partner to excuse himself and then trotted through the ranks of apprentices to the podium at the front of the class. "Yes, ma'am?"

Yvette gestured to Solas, who still stood on the podium. "I'm curious to see how the two of you stack up. If I'm reading Revas right, he's seen more combat than you but has limited mana. I've always wondered whether power or experience gives the greater advantage."

 _Seen more combat than Tal…you have_ no _idea,_ Solas thought sourly as Yvette directed him to stand facing Tal at the front of the training hall and quickly laid out more runes to blunt their magic. Then she ordered the class to watch and learn from the sparring and laid out ground rules. "Spells at no greater than half strength and nothing we haven't covered in this course. We don't want to actually harm one another. All schools are allowed."

Solas assumed a battle ready position within his own circle of runes while Yvette was still speaking, assessing Tal with the eyes of a long time veteran. The younger elf rolled his head about to stretch his neck and performed other slight warm up actions, occasionally shooting Solas a cocky, playful smile.

Yvette went on with the ground rules, switching to the end goal. "You lose if your barrier decays from damage or mana burnout and is not immediately refreshed. Go!"

Solas and Tal both tossed up barriers simultaneously, but Solas was the faster with activating his first offensive spell—winter's grasp. Tal's barrier rippled and shimmered, absorbing the magical attack with ease. With a grunt, Tal hurled a fireball at him.

Knowing his barrier was weak due to his own pathetic mana reserves, Solas sidestepped to the edge of his rune circle, almost leaping out of it. The fireball brushed his barrier, making it ripple and weaken a bit faster, but the blow was glancing, reducing the damage. Yvette and the class gasped audibly and Solas was vaguely aware of her rushing to douse the area where Tal's fireball had landed.

" _Tricky,"_ Tal said in elven with a cluck of his tongue, grinning. _"Hahren."_

Solas let his barrier decay as he twirled his stave, sending chain lightning arcing toward Tal. Tal tried to dodge, but less artfully than Solas had and the lightning still caught his barrier head on. The energy of Solas' spell destroyed the barrier and both mages quickly refreshed their barriers to show they were still in the game.

"No more nice Dalish," Tal announced, laughing. Spinning round, Tal channeled energy through his staff, flinging smaller fireballs in rapid succession at Solas.

The constant barrage ensured Solas couldn't possibly dodge them all and his barrier absorbed blow after blow, buzzing and shimmering as it dispersed the magical energy. Solas could feel it weakening dramatically and refreshed it with a flick of one hand, but embedded it with a passive spell to absorb stray mana from Tal's attacks, rather than lose it to the Veil. Technically that was cheating as it wasn't a basic-level spell Yvette taught in this course, but what was the value of experience if he did not use it? With that extra energy incoming Solas summoned winter's grasp again, freezing Tal's barrier and shattering it.

Tal's mouth fell open, gawping and then laughing as he put up his own barrier. "Strong one," he complimented.

" _Ma serannas,_ " Solas replied with a nod as he spun his staff and sent a bolt of lightning to strike hard at Tal. The energy crackled, sparking off his barrier, making it flicker as it rapidly decayed.

Tal used winter's grasp just as Solas had moments ago, but his spell broke over Solas' barrier, having minimal effect. Solas grinned with triumph at the younger elf, unable to keep his reaction in check as Tal frowned with bemusement. As winter magic was Solas' affinity, he'd long ago mastered a spell to make him near-immune to offensive attacks using that school. Apparently those inactive, idle spells Solas used to repel winter magic attacks weren't something Tal had learned yet—if they'd survived at all to the present age.

A quick glance at Yvette and the other apprentices, however, soured Solas' mood immediately as he remembered suddenly _where_ and _when_ he was. Yvette and Tal and all the others knew he was supposed to be incredibly weak. They'd seen as much when Solas drew near mana burnout on the podium. They didn't know the tricks for siphoning mana from an opponent's attacks to compensate and would be flummoxed by his current strength in combat. And, while impressing others with magic was something Solas was very much accustomed to doing, he also knew when to be cautious. There was incredible value in never letting others see your full abilities.

 _I must lose,_ he realized and altered his stance slightly as he made up his mind. He let the stray magic of Tal's attacks go to waste and made no effort to dodge.

Grunting with effort, Tal began another barrage of fire, then switched to chain lightning. The rapid combination was too much for Solas' barrier without the magic-conservation spells and it broke apart, popping like a bubble. Solas refreshed it, using more mana than was necessary to purposefully drain his reserves, and then countered Tal's attack with a fireball of his own.

Tal dodged, cursing under his breath, though his expression was alive with enjoyment. Twirling his staff and then pivoting around on one ankle, Tal sent more chain lightning at Solas.

Deliberately taking the attack head-on, Solas felt his barrier fray and then burst. Refreshing it once more, he found himself suddenly swaying on his feet. Tal, meanwhile, let out a wordless shout and clenched his fist, using winter's grasp. Solas' barrier still withstood the attack better than Tal would've handled the same spell from Solas, but it was decaying rapidly. The room spun and Solas' body was doused with the sudden panicky sweat of mana burnout.

"I concede," he announced as his barrier dissolved.

Yvette clapped her hands. "Well done, apprentices! Well done." Turning toward Tal, she said, "Your footwork was a bit sloppy several times. I can see your passion when casting in fire school and it shows in your footwork. It's too jerky, too fast to be sustainable. With winter school it's too slow though, so do keep that in mind."

Tal nodded to her respectfully. "Thank you, ma'am."

Glancing to Solas, Yvette smiled. "Your footwork was excellent, Revas. My only advice is to focus on some mana conservation exercises. I think you could have lasted longer. You seemed to pace yourself well at the start, but overextended yourself at the end."

 _How observant you are,_ Solas thought as he dipped his head to her in acknowledgement.

As Solas returned to his spot amongst the other apprentices, Yvette moved to clasp Tal by the shoulder, giving him a slight shake—a gesture of encouragement. "I have no doubt that you're ready for your Harrowing, Tal. Andraste guide you. I feel in my heart it will be soon."

Tal smiled warmly. "Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

Solas retired to his bunk that evening exhausted and sticky with sweat. His bath day wasn't scheduled for another two days so he had to make do with a sponge bath after most of the other apprentices had bedded down for the night. Since Rosa had left he'd started sharing his bunk with Tal, who slept above him in the loft bed. The younger elf had an amusing habit of talking in his sleep and as Solas got comfortable beneath the covers he heard Tal mumble, "Get your own cheese."

Swallowing his chuckling at Tal's sleep talking, Solas closed his eyes and slipped into the Fade. He found himself standing in the raw Fade, dripping and obscured with green ether that twined about his legs. A wisp darted about along a line of boulders beside a statue of a cloaked figure that might have been Dirthamen or perhaps one of Andraste's followers, Solas wasn't certain.

Solas had intended to try and summon the Formless One to him tonight, to question it and see if he could learn something about its interest in Rosa and the Forbidden Ones' greater purpose in Orlais. Felassan had said that the Forbidden Ones had somehow managed to possess a keystone controlling the eluvians, a fact that Solas suspected was anything but accident or coincidence. Far from it—the Forbidden Ones doubtless hoped to strong arm Solas into helping them somehow.

Yet, when he reached outward and focused his senses, Solas blinked with surprise as he realized the Formless One was nearby. Had it sought him out? Cautious and slow, Solas set out walking through the ankle-deep puddles, following his inner senses toward the powerful demon.

The greenish hue of the sky flickered occasionally with lightning, humming and groaning. Magic in the Fade ether around Solas made his skin dimple with pleasurable shivers as it connected with the modest amount of mana residing within him. The wisp he'd seen flitting about the statue earlier had followed him like a curious animal, sensing that he was nothing like the usual sleepers it encountered. Others soon joined it, flying along to either side of him, trilling their gentle song at varying paces—sometimes energetic and fast, other times soft and slow like a lullaby.

The Fade changed gradually as he walked on. The gray-green rocks forming the jagged uneven walls of the canyon around him disappeared as the dreamscape widened into a broad plain of tawny sand littered with boulders and slimy puddles. Rocks hovered in the sky, dripping water in steady streams. Ahead, on the flat plain, Solas saw a wall of green-gray mist and knew it marked the edge of a dream. He also sensed a Dreamer beyond that haze.

_Rosa._

The Formless One had sought her out _again?_ Or was it vice versa?

Deciding to conserve his mana for fear he might have to fight the demon, Solas strode forward at a jog rather than Fade stepping or altering the dreamscape. Passing into the haze and out the other side, he immediately felt a biting chill descend on him. Wind whipped snowflakes at his body and face, tugging on his apprentice robes. Teeth chattering, he squinted through the force of the gale and saw black pine tree through the whiteness. He stood on a mountainside, the hill angling downward ahead of him.

Willing away the effects of the cold and wind in this dream, Solas relaxed once more as a protective bubble around him formed like a barrier. Picking his way downhill, Solas entered the trees, leaving the wall of mist behind him. The weighty presence of another Dreamer was somewhere ahead, the Formless One with it. Both beings would sense his presence by now and could flee if they chose.

Distantly, as Solas neared them, he heard voices carried on the wind. The Formless One's androgynous voice was the more distinctive, loud and sharp, crisp and clear despite the distance and warping of the Fade. Solas heard snatches of phrases in elven: _child of Dirthamen…pay in blood…secret I possess…the Wolf…_

Dread opened its cold maw wide inside him. _No,_ he thought. _It would not reveal me…_

And then, just as Solas saw a flash of murky blackness through the whiteness, the Dreamer's presence vanished from his mind. _Fenedhis,_ he thought, snarling to himself. No matter, he had come to face the Formless One, not Rosa. He couldn't spare the moment to consider what he'd do if the demon had revealed his true identity, couldn't afford to let fear and panic grip him.

As if it sensed his thoughts—which it probably had—the demon appeared before him. It spread out over the snow like a stain over a tablecloth, bubbling and foaming as it gradually rose from the ground. Hovering as a foggy cloud that resisted the fierce wind, the demon laughed. _"Solas,"_ it greeted him, speaking in elven. _"Fen'Harel. A pleasure to see you, alone and weak. Tell me, why do you seek me out? You know you are no match for me. Should I wish it, I could smite you."_

Solas smiled, amused by its bluster, and didn't bother answering the demon aloud. They both knew why Solas had enormous value alive and none dead save vengeance. _"I have come in search of knowledge,"_ Solas told it, skipping pleasantries. He tucked his hands behind his back and paced before it, the snow crunching underfoot. _"The elven woman you stalked during her Harrowing. Tell me why you sought her out? What value is she to you?"_

There was little point in hiding his motives or playing coy. The Formless One would easily read the truth from him in his current weakened state. Solas had the knowledge and the power to hide his thoughts from spirits and demons, but doing so took control and mana he simply did not possess currently. It put him at a huge disadvantage and both he and the demon knew it.

The Formless One glittered, white snow reflecting from its intermittently reflective surface before it seemed to grow more diffuse, closer to a cloud than tarry water. Long years of interaction with various ancient, sophisticated demons like the Formless One allowed Solas to guess what the demon felt by observing it and sensing the Fade. Now he detected the thrill of excitement from the demon and hoped he hadn't miscalculated in approaching it.

" _You know I will not tell you, Wolf."_ It glittered again, pulsing as it expanded and contracted, as if breathing.

" _Perhaps we might reach some understanding or exchange?"_ Solas proposed. The Formless One had always enjoyed bargains and choices, much like its fellow Forbidden One, Imshael. Sometimes, if one played the demon well, it was possible to trick it and in so doing, learn something of value without a fair trade.

The Formless One cackled. _"You have nothing I desire, trickster. Although, I may be more amenable to a bargain in two days time."_

It was dropping hints like breadcrumbs, luring him. Solas smiled tightly. _"Is that so?"_

" _Yes,"_ The Formless One said, rippling as the wind howled past it. _"But you will not like my terms."_

Sighing, Solas played along. _"And how can you be so sure of that? What_ are _your terms?"_

And then, suddenly, before the Formless One could speak again, Solas heard the loud bang of thunder. Flinching, he panned about with his senses, looking up in the sky for a half-second before stiffening and gazing back at the Formless One, instinctually fearing an attack. But the Formless One was silent, glittering as it expanded and contracted in its regular rhythm.

But now the howling wind had become shouts and curses in his ears. Voices spoke, rough and guttural and ugly, in the common language. Metallic clanging and clattering jarred his keen hearing and he recognized the noise as Templar thugs' booted feet.

The Formless One cackled again. _"You are distracted. I shall see you again very soon, Wolf."_

Solas whipped around on his heel, closing his eyes and willing himself awake. He woke in darkness, gasping as he sat up on his cot, blinking as he saw the orange light of torches approaching his bunk. The light glinted from Templar armor, illuminating the red flaming sword of their order's sigil. He realized the bang he'd heard in his dream and interpreted as thunder had actually been the door to the apprentice barracks slamming into the wall as the Templars charged through it. The other apprentices had woken before him and gasped or cried out with alarm as they sprang up from their cots. Solas felt his own bunk shiver and move as Tal sat up overtop of him.

" _There's a bear in the bed!"_ Tal yelled, bleary with sleep. " _Hide the halla!"_

" _What's happening?"_ Solas asked, then shook his head with frustration as he realized he'd spoken in elven. "What's going on?" he repeated in common, only faintly wondering if Tal would answer him.

The Templars ignored Solas as they closed in on his bunk—it was clear their attention wasn't on him. Instead they grabbed at Tal, who struggled and grunted, cursing at them in elven and then common. As they dragged him down from his cot, slamming him on the floor, Solas felt his heart leap into his throat as the instinct to fight and help the younger elf gripped him like a vise. His hands curled into fists and mana bubbled inside him, swirling as he called it to the fore.

One of the Templars wrangling Tal on the floor turned and glared at Solas through the small slit in his helmet. Solas froze as he recognized Ser Bartholomew. The Templar shook his head once and then addressed the room, "Calm down everyone. It's simply time for this apprentice's Harrowing. Return to sleep and pray to merciful Andraste that this man passes the ritual."

With that they hauled Tal upright and Solas had a moment to lock eyes with him. In that instant Solas saw the same fire as he'd seen countless times in Rosa, glowing now in Tal's narrowed brown eyes. Then the Templars pulled a hood over Tal's head and finished binding his hands in front of him before dragging him from the room.

After the last Templar had left the room, turning a key in the latch as he went, an apprentice a few bunks down from Solas cursed. "Shit, I thought they were coming for me this time for sure!"

Another even further down the line added, "I _hate_ it when they come for them at night!"

Despite the roiling tension in Solas' stomach, he settled down on his cot quickly and began the measured breathing of meditation. He knew he must find Rosa if she wasn't already seeking him and let her know that it was apparently Tal's turn to undergo the same—or at least a similar ordeal—as she had.

The moment he opened his eyes in the Fade, he felt another Dreamer and heard Rosa calling to him, "Revas! Where in the name of Mythal have you been? I've been looking for you!"

Blinking, Solas took in the dreamscape quickly: a rich forest of both broadleaf and pine trees, dappled sunlight cutting through a thick canopy. Turning, Solas saw Rosa striding toward him, Rogathe at her side, shining brilliantly. The spirit moved militantly, as a warrior, while Rosa walked with catlike grace that doubtless belied her strength. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pinched thin.

Before Solas could tell her about Tal, she said, "They took Tal. He's to undergo his Harrowing. Now. Tonight." She gripped his bicep, squeezing tight. "Are you still up for helping me?"

"Of course," he replied immediately. He frowned, perturbed by her question and recalling the Formless One speaking to the Dreamer in the Fade, mentioning _the Wolf_. He blurted, "Why would you believe I would rescind my offer to help?"

"No reason," she answered and tugged on his arm. "We need to—"

Solas took a step back from her, jerking his arm out of her grasp, still frowning. "Tell me what the demon said to you tonight."

Rosa stared at him, mouth ajar and violet eyes roving over him. She seemed irritated at first and then mystified. Slowly, she shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Revas."

"You sought out the demon again. The one that faced you during your Harrowing." He glared at her, somber and intense, willing her to answer. "What did it tell you?" his tone had taken on a deep, ominous pitch.

She bared her teeth, grimacing with frustration. "I haven't seen the demon tonight. You're mistaken."

Solas shot Rogathe a glance. "Does she speak the truth?"

Rogathe shifted its stance, shoulders hunched and arms crossed over its chest—the body language of someone who'd taken offense. It might not be a person, certainly, but Rogathe expressed itself like one and chose a form to match. Currently, it looked like a taller, more thickly-built version of Rosa. "My ward is not a liar," it snarled. "She fears only for Tal in this moment and longs to aid him in the struggle to come. But _you_ …"

"What's gotten into you, Revas?" Rosa asked, her teeth still bared and her brow knitting with disapproval. "You're not making any sense…"

Staring at her, Solas swallowed hard as he realized he believed her. There was no coy smile over her lips. She had not expected or been prepared for this interrogation. That meant it had been someone _else_ in the Fade with the Formless One. Perhaps the demon was just targeting Dreamers? But…who else could it be?

"Forgive me," Solas said, averting his eyes by turning his head. "You were correct, lethallan. I was mistaken." He shook himself slightly and squared his shoulders. "But you are right that we must move quickly. I saw the Templars take Tal. I came here to find you, to help."

"And to accuse me of fraternizing with demons," Rosa snapped before sighing as she whirled on her heel and strode away past Rogathe, calling over her shoulder, "Come on. Let's forget this and get going."

Rogathe eyed Solas with a look of something akin to wariness. After a moment of silence it stepped forward and spoke to him in a quiet voice, "You expected she would know. You feared the Formless One exposed you. Had she known, you would have betrayed her." It sniffed, glaring. "While I admire that boldness, I deplore such a poor show of honor as Rosa has done nothing to earn your distrust. Regardless, know this—I will fight to the death to preserve Rosa."

Solas clenched his jaw and nodded, not the least bit surprised by Rogathe's admission. "I understand, _elgar_."

"Good." Rogathe turned and walked after Rosa, through the peaceful, waving grasses and ferns of the forested dreamscape.

With a sigh, Solas headed after them, his thoughts chugging away, heavy and troubled.

* * *

They found Tal in a dream shaped by what Solas suspected must have been an envy demon. It was a shadowy, hazy space with crumbling stone walls and winding passages. According to Rosa, who'd spent some time spelunking in the enchanters' dreams prior to this, Tal was expected to have a normal Harrowing ritual, not the observed event the Seeker and Knight-Captain had insisted on for her. As such, Solas, Rosa, and Rogathe didn't bother disguising their forms as they walked through the hazy, labyrinthine setting, following their internal senses toward the demon.

As they rounded one corner of a long corridor and discovered it was a dead end littered with old bones and bugs, Rosa cursed. "Elgar'nan's fiery farts!"

Solas snorted before he could stop himself. "Excuse me…?"

"You're excused," she told him, smirking at him over her shoulder. "And yes, that's exactly what Elgar'nan said after the aforementioned fiery farts."

 _I highly doubt that,_ Solas thought and chewed on the inside of his cheek to remain impassive.

Rogathe motioned at the wall blocking their path. "Let us clear the way, _da'len_."

"Couldn't agree more," she said and made a parting motion with both hands. The Fade rippled, reshaping to meet her will. The pale, crumbling bricks of the ruin, which Solas recognized as being of Elvhen construction, disappeared into Fade ether to reveal a path of sand and dirt leading straight ahead before it doglegged again.

Fearless, Rosa trotted ahead and rounded the next corner. Rogathe was next, followed by a more cautious Solas. But, a heartbeat after Rosa had disappeared behind the next corner, Solas heard her shout. He Fade-stepped forward, overtaking Rogathe to catch up.

Once there he saw the corridor widened into a room with several other arched entries and exits jutting off it. A mosaic in deep, glittering green showed Dirthamen while the walls had repeating images of Mythal, Falon'Din, and Elgar'nan. In the center of the room Solas saw what had made Rosa shout—her brother, Tal, stood stiff with rage as he glowered at a middle-aged elf bearing Elgar'nan's vallaslin.

"You are a disgrace to the People," the man snarled at Tal and then spat down at the young elf's feet. "You will always be the Bastard of clan Ghilath. I don't care if we never have another talented child born in my lifetime, I will _never_ make you my apprentice." He leaned into Tal's personal space as he said this, sneering with malicious enjoyment.

Tal looked like an angry cat, standing his ground with his chest puffed up, his chin thrust out. He was taller by almost a full head over the older elf—his Keeper, Solas suspected—and in the uneven, harsh green lighting of the dreamscape, Tal had a regal Elvhen bearing. Solas had to stop, blinking and frowning to himself at the likeness. He quashed the disconcerting reminder and watched as Rosa shouted again to her brother.

"Tal! He's not real. Ignore him and come with us!"

Tal turned his head slightly, clearly having heard Rosa's words, but he didn't look away from his Keeper. "I know he's not real, _asamalin._ I'm just…"

"You're wasting time," Rosa admonished, stepping forward. She raised a hand and her face twisted with concentration. Tal's Keeper turned slightly to regard her, his face set in a sneer, and then his shape wavered and vanished.

Tal huffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head at his sister. "I can handle this whole Harrowing thing myself," he said, making Solas think of a pouty teen. "I've already fought off half a dozen illusions the demon sent. I think I'm close and I'll face it soon, whatever it is…"

"An envy demon," Solas said, stepping forward now and motioning to the room with its mosaics around them. "The illusions are meant to elicit a genuine reaction from you that the demon will then observe in the hopes that it will take your place in the waking world." He paused a moment, smiling as Tal sighed. "You have been feeding the demon by reacting to these illusions."

"Well," Tal said, frowning. "I'm not about to let it trick me into letting it possess me, so—"

"Envy demons are cowards," Rogathe interrupted with a fierce punch of one fist into the opposite palm. "They do not deceive and they do not require consent. They will simply entrap you and then _become_ you unless you flush them from hiding and fight them, boy."

"Well said," Solas praised Rogathe with a nod. "Your only hope in dealing with this demon is to ignore the distractions and seek it out directly." Motioning to Rosa and Rogathe, he added, "We can help you."

Tal scuffed at the mosaic of Dirthamen underfoot, flicking his toes against it. "Damn envy demon." Letting out a breath, Tal raised both hands to indicate the room around them. "So…lead on. Let's kick this demon's ass."

"Indeed!" Rogathe exclaimed, grinning in eagerness.

They set out together, the two elves and the spirit of bravery following Rosa as she took them to a nearby wall and willed it away with a wave of her hand. Solas no longer envied her ease with reshaping the Fade now that he had mana and a stronger connection to it himself, but it still brought a pleasant smile to his lips to see a fellow Dreamer at work. She could have destroyed the whole dream and exposed the demon outright, but that would've tipped her hand to the beast who'd designed this trap. The envy demon might just flee if it realized it had no chance of evading them long enough to get a read on its intended victim.

A few minutes of walking through passageways that Rosa created to find a more direct route to the envy demon eventually brought them to a wide chamber that'd been tiled in yellowish gold. Standing in the center of the room were three figures, immediately recognizable as mirror images of the three elves.

Seeing it first as she led the way, Rosa snorted. "Really, envy? Give me a break already."

The Rosa in the center of the room strode forward to meet her, a smug smile over her face. "Oh, Tal," she cooed like a mother to a child. "Little brother. How foolish you are. Such a simpleton. How I tire of protecting you constantly."

Tal chuckled from where he stood just inside the archway leading into the chamber, at Solas' side. "It nailed you, _asamalin."_

Ignoring the mock-Rosa, the real Rosa walked deeper into the room and Rogathe moved after her, pausing briefly to regard the fake elven woman with a sneer. "We grow tired of your distractions and mockery, envy," it said to the fake-Rosa. "Come out and face us with courage!"

Tal leaned closer to Solas, murmuring quietly, "Rogathe may be really loyal and brave and all that, but it's dumber than a sack of rocks. I mean, when was the last time a bad guy came out just because you _asked?_ "

Solas chuckled, shaking his head with déjà vu. He'd just heard Felassan use that phrase _dumber than a sack of rocks_ not long ago and could not deny that it was apt now. "It is a young spirit," he said, defending it. "In truth, the dangerous spirits are those that grow cunning."

"So…it being stupid is a good thing?" Tal asked and then smirked. "Got ya."

Solas' lookalike then started moving, ignoring Rosa who circled around where their doppelgangers stood. Solas took in the illusionary image of himself and sighed at the lance of vanity that passed through him. He was not the elf he had been pre-Veil, bald and aged enough that his skin showed fine lines and wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. But, when the doppelganger spoke, at least he could draw some measure of comfort in knowing his voice remained unchanged.

"Did you believe I cared for you, _da'len?"_ mock-Solas asked, arching a brow at Tal. "You are a foolish boy, and not a Dreamer. Were I not trapped in the tower with these Templars, I would never associate with the likes of you. I find you repulsive." Mock-Solas made a snarl of disgust.

Tal clucked his tongue. "Envy's sloppy with you, Revas. You'd never say that."

 _I hope that is true, Tal_. In truth, Solas wondered if Envy wasn't closer to the mark than the other elf realized. Had Solas not been trapped in this tower, would he have chosen to interact with Dalish mages like this? _No,_ he thought. The Dalish had spurned him in the dreaming far too many times for him to respect them or wish to seek them out.

From the center of the room, Tal's doppelganger started to speak as it sauntered toward them in a goofy gait that wasn't anything like the real Tal. "The bastard of Ghilath clan," fake-Tal said, grinning. "Inheritor of nothing and beloved of no one."

"Well," Tal said, wrinkling his nose. "That's harsh."

"Ignore it, _isamalin,"_ Rosa called to him, walking back toward them. Her expression was pinched and fierce with concentration. "The demon is somewhere in this room, but my sense of it is…unclear. I think it's one of the lookalikes. Hiding in plain sight."

Passing her own doppelganger again, Rosa reached out and slapped it on the shoulder. The other elven woman grinned at her, absorbing the blow easily and moving to follow the real Rosa with her violet eyes. "You think? Oh, but you're so clever, aren't you? Banished from your clan, abandoned by all who ever loved you. Did you ever wonder if maybe you were meant to die that day on the banks of the Fehorn river? Surely death is preferable to a life in the Hasmal tower…. _alone."_

Rosa snarled at the lookalike and then struck like a snake, hurling a fireball at it with the dry, crackling roar of flame. The orange light flickered off the golden tiles as it passed right through the doppelganger. The mock-Rosa tossed her head back and laughed, shoulders heaving. "How delightful you are. It is you who should be called _solas._ "

Solas' skin prickled with alarm. _We must kill this demon quickly._ The demon could, in desperation, distract them with infighting. And some of the greatest shock and anger and contention would be in revealing Solas' true identity. Unlike the Formless One, which had more reason to ensure Solas survived than perished, this envy demon might not care that Fen'Harel planned to tear down the Veil and restore the Fade to Thedas. It was likely a young demon, having taken shape post-Veil like Rogathe.

The bravery spirit, likely sensing Solas' reaction, glanced at him with a glare but said nothing.

The fake-Tal spoke next, "What do you think, _asamalin?_ Would you prefer a name like solas? _Pride._ You are so proud, after all. You have great things to be proud of, unlike me." The doppelganger swung its head to regard Solas now, grinning. "And what of humble Revas? What has _he_ to be proud of? What great things has _he_ accomplished?"

Solas' lookalike piped up to answer, striding toward the real Tal and Solas with his hands tucked behind his back in a stance of authority. "Would you like to know, _da'len?_ There is nothing I enjoy more than enlightening the ignorant Dalish I find myself surrounded by."

With his mouth suddenly bone dry and his heart fluttering in his chest, Solas called out, "The envy demon is in my lookalike!" And, without warning, he launched a Fade stone at it with a punch of his fist. Unlike with Rosa's fireball earlier, this time the blow impacted. Greenish Fade stone splintered and clattered as it fell with the fake-Solas' body to the ground. The other two doppelgangers flickered and vanished.

With a shout, Tal lunged toward the lookalike and, with a gesture, sent a bolt of lightning sizzling through the air at it. The envy demon screeched, its form warping and changing until it grew into a monstrosity. Pale as a worm and with multiple arms that ended in sharp talons and a faceless head with only a mouth full of needle sharp teeth, it rolled up onto its feet and slashed at Tal—only to stumble as a Fade stone from Rosa impacted it from behind.

Roaring, Rogathe raced for it as well, a shining blade clutched in its hands that it swung with reckless abandon. "I will _destroy_ you!" it promised as it hacked and slashed.

Solas tossed barriers up over all three other fighters and then cast immolation beneath the demon, lighting it up. Rosa Fade-stepped through it, freezing the demon's hide. Popping out of it, she took a spot beside Solas, leaving Tal closest to the fray. As Solas called mana for winter's grasp, Rosa's hand shot out to stop him. "No," she said. "Let Tal handle it. This is his fight. I don't want to take that from him."

"I understand," Solas said, smiling with approval, but watching the ongoing fight, he made a face as Rogathe roared and twirled, stabbing at the envy demon's pallid flesh. "What of Rogathe?"

Rosa shrugged, smirking. "Do you honestly think it wise to try and stop it? A spirit of bravery?"

Solas nodded. "I suppose not."

The demon shrieked under Rogathe and Tal's combined continuous assault, weakening fast. It slashed with long-fingered, clawed hands, but Tal nimbly ducked and rolled. Rogathe simply took the blows the demon dished out, its green essence splattering like blood and then vaporizing away into mist.

 _Fearless but stupid,_ Solas thought, feeling Rosa tense at the sight.

Sensing that it would be killed, the envy demon dropped into a crouch and clawed at the ground. Green light formed in a circle about its feet as a portal opened for it to slide into and teleport elsewhere. But before it could, Rosa sent another Fade stone clattering into it. With its trick disrupted, the demon fell over and lay prone as both Tal and Rogathe attacked with fresh zeal. Tal hurled lightning and fire, apparently his favorite schools of magic, and Rogathe darted in close to stab downward at the demon's chest.

With a shriek and a final shudder, the envy demon dissolved into the yellow tiles of the floor, bubbling and oozing in green Fade ether. The dream around them rippled as the demon that'd shaped it died, transforming into a green-gray haze that was so thick Rosa and Solas could no longer clearly see Tal and Rogathe.

"Tal?" Rosa called, trotting forward. Solas followed close behind, his feet feeling the cold, slimy stone underfoot as he ran. They saw Rogathe's bright sword shining as the spirit waved it about like a beacon, drawing them in. But Tal was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Tal?" Rosa asked the spirit, her voice tight with concern.

Rogathe shrugged. "He's vanished beyond the Veil, but no matter, _da'len._ " It grinned, striding forward to clap her on the shoulder. "We have achieved a glorious victory over a coward!" Inhaling in a deep breath through its nose, Rogathe let out a long, contented sigh. "What a rewarding battle!"

Rosa shot Solas a worried look and Solas tried to reassure her with a smile. "I suspect he has wakened into the Harrowing chamber to be embraced as a full-fledged Circle mage. The demon's dream was what kept him here."

"And the lyrium," Rosa muttered with a huff, wrinkling her nose with disgust. "That stuff is foul."

Solas chuckled. "I agree."

"Well then…" Rosa said, staring at him as one corner of her lips twitched as if someone tugged it upward with a string but hadn't quite committed to the act yet. The look in her violet eyes was unreadable and mixed. Solas saw the flush from battle, exhilarating and rewarding as Rogathe said, but there was something darker lurking deeper within.

From its spot about two meters away, slightly obscured by the thick fog leftover by the shattered dream, Rogathe sheathed its sword with a sound that was both metallic and energy-based. The noise made Solas shift with tension, averting his gaze from Rosa and taking a step back. _Bid her goodnight,_ a voice ordered in the back of his head. _Do it now, before she can question you…_

"I am pleased to have helped Tal pass his Harrowing," he began, smiling politely. "Though I will very much miss his company during mealtimes and the classes we shared—even if it was but for a day." He nodded to her and started to wish her goodnight. "I should be on my way. There are—"

"What were you saying earlier?" Rosa interrupted him, brow furrowed and lips pinching together. "About the demon I met during my Harrowing?"

Solas avoided her stare, clenching his jaw. He felt the weight of both Rosa and Rogathe, watching him and waiting on his answer. His chance to steal away had evaporated as completely as the envy demon had.

"I…" He let the words trail off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before beginning again. "I sought out the demon you encountered tonight, before Tal was taken. I sensed another Dreamer when I found it, but the Dreamer left the Fade before I could uncover whom it was. I _assumed_ it was you and that the demon was troubling you once more."

He swallowed, fighting the tense pressure in his throat. "I hoped to aid you." That much had been true. The Formless One wasn't a demon to take lightly and whatever choice or punishment it planned could be truly terrible. "After sensing the other Dreamer, I wonder if perhaps this demon has targeted our kind specifically."

"Dreamers?" Rosa asked, arching an eyebrow. Something in her tone suggested she doubted his interpretation.

"Yes," Solas said, frowning slightly. "Why else would it have any interest in us?" In a sweeping motion, Solas indicated the fog around them. "It clearly has no interest in your brother." The words were careful and calculated and he made certain to appear as though he was not watching her closely for a hint that'd reveal something.

Rosa's features twisted with concentration as she appeared to consider his words. Then, with a flippant shrug, she said, "Could be, I guess."

Solas felt his stomach drop with disappointment, having learned nothing—until Rosa spun about on her heel to face Rogathe. In that brief snatch he was sure he saw the darkness in her eyes of some hidden knowledge that weighed her down. Whatever the Formless One wanted of her, Solas felt confident it wasn't after her because she was a Dreamer.

 _If she would just tell me,_ he raged inwardly, shaking his head and swallowing back his sigh of frustration. Didn't she understand that her life could be in danger? _Of course she does,_ the cynical voice in his head rejoined. _She simply does not care._

" _Ma serannas_ ," Rosa said to the spirit. "For your help tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourself, _falon_."

The spirit nodded and grinned, its teeth blazingly bright as its sword had been. "I did indeed, _da'len._ " Then, abruptly, it sobered and squared its shoulders as its gaze slid to Solas and then back to Rosa again. "You do yourself a disservice now, however. I can feel the weight of your choice and the fear of it upon you. Facing it alone is no small feat, _da'len,_ but it is unnecessary. I praise your bravery, but a warrior must know when to take companions into battle."

Solas watched the exchange with unabashed fascination, eyes narrowed with concentration. What choice had the Formless One tried to extract from her?

Rosa snorted. "I'm not going into battle, Rogathe." Hesitating a moment, she then added, "And I don't know what you're talking about."

Now Rogathe tilted its head down to glower at her. "Do not lie, _da'len._ Lies are the words of cowards…" It shot Solas a swift look. "And tricksters." Its voice dropped, becoming softer, almost tender. "You are neither. He can help you."

Rosa groaned, scrubbing her face with both hands. Then, looking up, she said, " _Ir abelas, falon_ …" And, suddenly, she lifted both hands and the Fade rippled as her will transformed it. Rogathe vanished, left behind or pushed away to some other corner of the Fade. Solas had done something similar to force the spirit away during Rosa's Harrowing to ensure it did not make the humans observing her suspicious.

The dreamscape cleared of the green-gray mist, transforming in a heartbeat to the dark of a night in the forest he was beginning to recognize as the Brecilian. A mixture of broadleaf trees and pines surrounded them over hillocks. Crickets sang in their beautiful, shrill song. Solas felt grass beneath his bare feet now instead of stone. The air smelled richly of moisture, pollen, and pine.

Rosa stood with her back to him several paces away, her posture straight and tense. Solas drew in a breath through his tight lungs and stretched out his senses in the Fade. With an idle gesture he let his spirit leech deeper into this dream; latching on like a tick for fear that she would try and push him out of the Fade just as the Formless One had. Seconds of silence lengthened until finally Solas cleared his throat and said, "I can only help you if you allow me to do so, lethallan."

Her head swiveled slightly, letting Solas see the corner of one violet eye. A moment later she spun about, her gaze hard and her jaw clenched. "I…" She shook her head, her eyes dropping to the grass of the hillock they stood on. Dappled white light from the moon cut through the trees, lighting bits and pieces of her face. She fidgeted, her hands wringing together in front of her.

"Whatever troubles you," Solas said gently, seeing her distress and feeling it in the Fade as an outside pressure on his skin. "I want to help you. This demon is not one to take lightly." He licked his lips, his own anxiety coiling inside him tightly. "You could be in mortal danger."

She gave a slight shake of her head, as if about to say _no,_ and then seemed to stop, blinking as she lifted her eyes to meet his as though she'd just realized he was there. "The demon called itself the Formless One," she said at last. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Solas feigned surprise, widening his eyes and letting his mouth fall open. "Actually," he hedged. "Yes. That is a name listed in some obscure documents from Tevinter as being one of a group of very ancient demons called _Forbidden Ones._ " That would impress her, properly instilling fear. With some idea of what caliber of being she stood against, Rosa was more likely to come forward to him for aid—as she should. Not just to sate Solas' curiosity, but to protect herself. If the Formless One hoped to possess her after all or to force her to summon it through the Veil it'd surely slaughter her once in their world.

And the death would not be a swift or merciful one. The Forbidden Ones had been quite inventive in their tortures.

The thought of Rosa meeting such a fate made him suddenly and intensely nauseous. Driven forward at the prospect with fresh determination, Solas walked over the grass toward her. "Please, lethallan," he repeated, voice earnest and plaintive. "You can trust me." When she stared at him, eyes crinkled with distress, and did not pull back from him, Solas laid his hands over her shoulders and squeezed. "A demon like the Formless One is—"

She cut him off, blurting, "It wanted blood."

Solas froze, eyes narrowed, mind spinning with shock and then a slow, cold horror.

"Your blood," Rosa finished in a quiet, dark voice.

Sweat erupted over him. Solas stayed frozen, watching her and waiting.

Rosa leaned closer to him, her lips drawing back from her teeth in a savage flash of something akin to anger, but not directed at _him_. "It wanted your blood; I don't know why. But do you know what I told it?"

Solas turned his head slightly, staring at her obliquely, barely daring to breathe. His throat seemed to have seized up; gripped with cold dread and…something else he didn't dare name. It thrummed in the Fade between them, warm and fluttering and fierce and defiant. He wasn't certain what was his emotion, hers, or both.

"I told it I'd never give it what it wanted, Void take it." Pressing closer still, Solas felt the breath of her words brush over his skin and his heart started pounding frantically. Despite this being the Fade, her shoulders felt firm beneath his hands, her scent washing over him and stirring that foolish, delicious longing within him. The taciturn survivor within him screamed at him to pull away, to reject her. Clashing with his raw want, it left him motionless and dumbfounded, though his eyes dropped repeatedly to her lips and then to her eyes, still seeking permission for a kiss he could never take.

One of her hands slid up his chest to gently grip his chin, her violet eyes piercing into his own. "Why does an ancient demon want your blood, Revas?" she asked in a whisper.

His mind was blank and empty, all intelligent thought far, far away. A distant part of him knew he could never answer that question, but at the moment he didn't have the breath or the wherewithal to even formulate an answer in his mind, let alone speak it.

She chuckled, low and husky, shaking her head slightly. "Speechless, flat-ear?" She clucked her tongue, pink and alluring just past her lips. "It doesn't matter. I would never give it your blood. Whatever punishment there is, I'll take it."

And then, as he still stared at her, stunned into muteness, Rosa pressed her lips to his in a deep kiss.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Rosa," he breathed her name, struggling to hold onto some semblance of self-control. His hands rose to her shoulders, his grip tightening as he tried to find the self-discipline within himself to push her away. "We mustn't…"

Her kisses on his throat and jaw stilled a beat and then she whispered in a dark voice, "Please…don't deny me this." Her hands on his chest curled into fists, gripping his robes. "I know you want me. It's been written on you plain as day for a long time now."

* * *

Author note: Did I promise you romance, or did I promise you romance? The answer was YES and YES. I frequently enjoy writing sexually liberated, brazen female MCs. Call it a reversal on the shy, inexperienced schoolgirl trope. Rosa is very much no exception. Judging by how Solas reacts to you kissing him in the Fade, he has a thing for that, too. There's nothing like reciprocated sexual attraction and Solas *LOVES* free will and choice. So you liking him back must be major boner material. But, because it's Solas, expect a lot of brooding and guilt and self-denial, too. All the, "I don't deserve you" and "it will be kinder in the long run" and "None of this is actually real" nug-shit lies our beloved Egghead tells himself. 

But now these two can't deny that sexual tension anymore. They've had their Fade-kiss. Proverbial shite has hit the fan!


	18. A Kiss Is But A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole: They left for love, and then love lost them. More pain, more joy than anyone can bear, and yet they embrace it.  
> Solas: How could they not?
> 
> For a hot minute, Solas embraces his attraction to Rosa. Then he agonizes over it, denies it, over-analyzes it, and decides he has to end it. But Rosa isn't buying it. She needs Solas' help to outsmart the Formless One, but unfortunately the two elves can't stop tripping over their own lies and secrets. Until one of them gives, the demon is sure to win.  
> Meanwhile, Varric has evidence something truly terrible is happening outside the Hasmal Circle and that rebellion is coming, fast.

The world disappeared from Solas' senses, shrinking down until it was only the drumming beat of his heart in his ears and the sweet taste of Rosa's mouth against his. The shrilling of the cicadas and the sigh of the wind through the leaves in the canopy fell on deaf ears. The earthy scent of pine had been replaced by vanilla and lilac from her skin. His stomach flip-flopped inside him, his body suddenly growing light.

How long had it been since he had felt this way? How long since he shared a kiss? _Too long,_ a selfish, needy part of him complained, unfurling within him to overpower the stolid, wary loner. _What harm can this truly bring? Why, when I have so few pleasures, must I deny myself this?_

When Rosa broke the kiss and withdrew, her violet eyes scanning his face, Solas reached for her greedily, drawing her back to him for another taste. She moved into it, matching his eagerness with her own. Her lips parted and Solas leapt at the chance to taste her more deeply, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She met his tongue with her own, sucking and nibbling with boldness that only fanned the fires igniting within him. The distant voice in the back of his mind that screamed at him in warning went silent, drowned out by his own pulse. _Why must I deny myself this_ transformed into _How could I not embrace this?_

Her hands slid up his chest to grip his shoulders, keeping him stooped slightly for the ongoing, greedy kiss. Solas responded in kind by slipping his hands around her waist to hold her body closer. Their breathing was wet and fast, panting and heated, a song that was very different from the cicadas but no less hypnotic. _Fenedhis,_ how he had missed and wanted this rush, heart pounding and body throbbing with desire. The taste of her, this woman he'd never expected, so brazen and wild and passionate and clever…

Rosa pressed forward and Solas backpedaled, letting her push him until his shoulder hit the tree trunk behind him, all without breaking the kiss. He bent forward, molding his body to hers as she melted into his, both sucking in great gasps of air between sloppy, wet kisses and exchanges of tongue. How had he managed to wait this long? And _why?_ It seemed incomprehensible now.

_Except…_

A flash of memory shot through him, as piercing as an arrow. It was Tal's lookalike as created by the envy demon, taunting Solas in the younger elf's still-boyish voice: _"And what of humble Revas? What has_ he _to be proud of? What great things has_ he _accomplished?"_

 _You do not deserve this, trickster,_ a cold voice taunted him. _You do not deserve her when you will only be the death knell of her world, her people. She does not know she locks lips with the Dread Wolf._

Solas broke the kiss, gasping and turning his head away from her. "No," he blurted, breathing hard. "We shouldn't…"

Rosa made a throaty sound that was neither agreement nor dispute. "I don't care that it attracts demons," she said, clearly misinterpreting his meaning.

Looking at her directly again, shoulders still heaving and heart pounding, Solas saw her lips swollen from the feverish kissing and her pupils dilated to black pools that consumed nearly all the violet. His fingers, still at her waist, flexed with renewed desire. But he swallowed hard, forcing himself to fight those baser instincts and desires. "It was not demons I was concerned about."

Now her brow furrowed and she cocked her head to one side. "What?" she asked and snorted. "You trying to tell me you're not interested in me after _that?"_

His mind fluttered with muted panic, dulled by ongoing longing and arousal. She had him there, though his kneejerk reaction was to try and dismiss the passion that flowed between them, but he didn't want to hurt her. He quashed that for now, finding a better reason to try and turn her away.

"We cannot take such risks. We must stay focused on our goal of escape."

She shook her head, grinning. "You are entirely too reserved," she purred and then leaned close to him, speaking the last word against his throat. "Flat-ear." The touch of her hot breath, her soft lips on the tender skin of his neck sent his heart racing all over again. He bit back a gasp as he felt her teeth nip at his jaw line.

"Rosa," he breathed her name, struggling to hold onto some semblance of self-control. His hands rose to her shoulders, his grip tightening as he tried to find the self-discipline within himself to push her away. "We mustn't…"

Her kisses on his throat and jaw stilled a beat and then she whispered in a dark voice, "Please…don't deny me this." Her hands on his chest curled into fists, gripping his robes. "I know you want me. It's been written on you plain as day for a long time now."

All of their shared dreams, working together, helping and challenging each other, flirting and playfulness…he couldn't deny it. They both knew it'd be a lie—a cruel lie—if he tried. Something unexpected and terrifying and thrilling had grown between them, inexplicably, and despite all his efforts to deny and prevent it.

Her warm lips kissed his chin and then nibbled, each breath moist and hot against his skin as she made her way back to his mouth slowly, questing. What little self-control he still possessed evaporated and he moved to meet her lips with his own, hungrily. His mind was blissfully empty of higher thought, brimming instead with the hot drive of desire tightening inside him, more powerful than any he'd felt since sexual awakening literal ages ago. The impatience, the neediness and primal hunger…

Caution and consequences be damned. He wanted Rosa, _needed_ her—and, thrillingly and most importantly, she wanted him as well. What better way to relieve stress and pass time while trapped in the tower? What else could offer comfort so effectively? Rosa had intrigued and frustrated him from the very start and no small part of it was attraction, much as he'd been loath to admit it. She was a brazen spirit, defiant and willful, stubborn and courageous and intelligent. _Of course_ he wanted her, and now that she had made her own desires known there was no reason to hold back.

Laying his sweaty palms on her neck, Solas broke their sloppy kiss and transitioned to her ear, tracing it with his lips and then his tongue. His fingers teased at the chainmail on her neck, slipping beneath to caress down toward her collarbone. Rosa let out a husky moan, her hands gripping tighter on his chest as she tilted her head to give him better access.

The sound of her moan and her welcoming response set Solas' pulse racing, fiery with need. He mouthed the sharp point of her ear tip, flicking it with his tongue, then dropping to her jaw line and what little he could access of her neck around her Keeper armor. She let out a breathy, throaty chuckle, arching her back to press her hips into his and turned her head to capture his lips again. Nibbling and sucking, she attacked his lips, her hands sliding down his chest and past his belly to the belt at his hips that kept his apprentice robes fastened.

Reacting to her aggressive advancement, Solas explored over her armor. Unfamiliar with it and clumsy as a result, he still managed to find hidden lacings in the ironbark breastplate and shoulder guards. A tug and it unraveled, though his only reward was to feel the chill of chainmail beneath it. He grunted with frustration, aware dimly that as this was only a dream they had merely to wish away their clothing.

Breaking the feverish kiss to tell her as much, Solas said, "Perhaps we might—"

A clanging sound reverberated through the trees, cutting him off and making Solas flinch. Was it thunder? He looked around quickly, alarmed.

"Revas?" Rosa asked. "What's wrong?"

Looking to her again, Solas saw her pouty, bee-stung lips and her eyes dark with desire and felt his body flush hot with want all over again even as his mind reeled at the name she'd used. _She has no idea who you are in the slightest. Her people remember you as a monster and they are right. You mislead and deceive her, take advantage of her at every turn. She deserves better than that, better than you._

Another voice echoed through his mind, this one external and distinctly other: _"Rise and shine, apprentices! Time to start a new day of learning!"_

"It's dawn," Solas said, realizing at once what the clanging a few moments ago had been. The mage who oversaw the apprentices had arrived to waken everyone and assign duties for the day. "I must waken."

Rosa's lips quirked with amusement. "Pity. I liked where this was going…"

He struggled to find a suitable answer, something that would dissuade her from pursuing him without lying outright and painfully that he hadn't been just as passionate and eager as she. But then he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and the world spun. The nighttime Brecilian forest vanished and Rosa with it.

He woke with a gasp, blinking blearily as his blurry eyes adjusted to the grayish light of dawn streaming in through the windows along one wall of the barracks. The mage overseer stood over his bunk, a tight, worried smile over her face. "You all right, Revas?"

Flushing with humiliation, Solas realized he had been lying on his stomach, drooling into his pillow and unresponsive. "I'm fine," he replied, gently pushing the mage's hand away. "Just…" _deep in the Fade_ "…tired." _Highly aroused._

He cleared his throat, trying to mask the blush spreading over his cheeks and all the way to his ear tips as he realized his foolish body had responded to his amorous actions in the Fade, leaving him with what was likely an impressive erection. He was trapped, unable to sit up and yet remaining in his current position wouldn't readily relieve his physical condition as it pressed his hips to the cot and was entirely too much like feeling Rosa's body tight to his own.

Fortunately the mage nodded to him once she'd seen he was awake and responsive and strode away to a different apprentice in another bunk. Solas sat up on his elbows, letting out a shuddering breath as he tried to banish the arousing dream and all thoughts of Rosa from his mind. Pivoting to his side but remaining in a reclining position hid his body's overeager reaction and let him gradually bring it under control once more. Probing his mana core for cold spells and envisioning every dwarven rune, elven symbol, and common letter did the trick.

Soon he was able to rise from his cot and stretch, finding Tal's bunk above his own empty as he did so. Sighing, Solas scrubbed at his face. _Tal doesn't know who I am either,_ he thought sourly. He had no right to feel the lance of loss at the thought that he wouldn't see the younger elf's smiling, friendly face in his classes or at his meals today. He didn't deserve the youth's trust or affection.

A Tranquil man by the name of Andrew approached Solas next and extended a basket filled with bread for him as breakfast. Solas smiled politely and claimed a loaf, beginning to feel the first gnawing twists of hunger in his stomach. Hunger for _sustenance_ now, rather than _sex._

He ate while the other apprentices fought over the water closet, washing their faces, taking sponge baths, or getting a drink to wash down the dry loaf of breakfast bread. Solas was content to wait for his chance to have a drink, his thoughts murky and troubled. He quashed most of them as counterproductive, refusing to brood on…things. Not yet, anyway.

Once he'd finished his loaf, Solas felt over his arms and legs and was pleasantly surprised by the muscle tone he discovered there. His body had been recovering faster and faster in recent days, though he was still a tad too lean and wizened compared to his former self pre-Veil. A quick check of his scalp found no hair, however, though he knew from his last bath that his eyebrows had grown in nicely at least. Bartholomew and any other Templars with bets on his health would probably assume he was fully recovered now, at least in body as Solas guessed he was about as broad some of the younger elven apprentices—within a normal _modern_ elf body weight.

After finally getting a drink to wash down his breakfast, Solas attended his first class on Chantry history, followed immediately by a second course dedicated solely to religion. His task was to memorize and repeat the Chant, but Solas merely feigned interest in it and let his mind drift. Recalling the force and raw _need_ of his encounter with Rosa, he frowned into his copy of the Chant of Light, keeping his head low where the instructor couldn't see it. What had come over him? How could he have lost control so completely? It…wasn't like him.

Once leaving the first bloom of adolescence and his village behind with it, Solas had endured a mostly abstinent lifestyle for a century or two—honestly, he'd lost count while wandering the wilds—only slaking his lust with willing spirits or the rare fellow wanderer on occasion. Joining Arlathan's court, he'd been bombarded with titillating displays of flesh and promises of physical delights that could last weeks on end, but his humble origins and austere lifestyle made him wary of it. And rightly so!

Taking lovers in Arlathan turned out to be a dangerous gamble as the class system, centered as it was on magic, meant women often pursued men of higher classes with a goal of conceiving children with more magical talent. Because not even the higher classes could stop their children from being taken away should they be born with too little magic. These women stood a better chance of keeping their children if they sired those children with men who possessed more magical talent than themselves. As a result, Solas was desired for his _magic_ rather than his _self._ It was a frustrating discovery that had dampened many of his experiences at court as he had no intention of fathering children with idle lovers and longed for the genuine affection he'd seen between his parents rather than the calculated, passionless lust of the noble class. And that was only one of the countless ways sex was abused in Arlathan.

Despite all this, over centuries, he'd fallen to some of Arlathan's excesses. When he did take lovers, mostly at Mythal's insistence that abstinence was unnatural and would drive him mad, he strove to perfect lovemaking as an art. Immortality meant spending weeks pursuing sexual pleasure was an entirely plausible goal, though only the upper classes found it _practical._ When servants or slaves provided food on schedule and one could conjure bathwater heated to perfection from the very air itself, why would anyone bother leaving the bedroom?

In all that time, Solas had never been driven mindless with desire. Why had he lost control now? Many women had attempted to seduce him in Elvhenan with as bold a move as Rosa, but Solas had easily turned them away. Was it _Rosa_ that was the difference? Or was it something within himself or some combination of the two?

Perhaps it was the influence of mortality, the baser instincts of physical life asserting themselves because his body knew better than his mind how short a time it had left. He wondered if any of his agents had felt a similar…quickening of their desires. He wanted to ask Zevanni or Felassan, but couldn't without revealing his compromising position. If it was just a matter of slaking lust he could seek Zevanni out in the Fade to ease it but…

He frowned again into his tome, the words of Andraste's Chant blurring as his eyes unfocused. Sleeping with Zevanni would be pleasant, of course, but that wasn't what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted.

 _Fenedhis._ That settled it. Mortality _could_ have played a part in it, but ultimately—and as usual—it was _his_ fault. _He_ had let himself grow fond of Rosa. _He_ had allowed himself to act on that emotion and attraction and to respond when she kissed him. Unfortunately—and, _again_ as usual—it wouldn't be just he alone who suffered for his mistake, either. He'd have to reject Rosa, turn her away before either of them went any further with this dangerous affair. Her voice returned to him, dark and pleading: " _Please…don't deny me this."_

 _Ir abelas,_ he thought, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. _The fault is mine. You deserve someone better._

A voice intruded on his brooding, sounding cross. "Is there a problem, apprentice?"

Solas lifted his head and saw the religion studies teacher glaring at him. He dredged up a smile. "No, ma'am. I merely have a headache."

She frowned at him, apparently seeing through the lie. "Recite Andraste 14:11," she commanded.

Biting back his reluctance and irritation, Solas quickly leafed through the Chant to find the correct verse. Laying his finger over it, he licked his lips and read, "Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity."

The teacher nodded her approval and strode on down the row of apprentices, stopping at a different desk to berate another student. Solas heaved a sigh and stared again at the Chant without seeing it, lips pinched in a hard line as he considered the unpleasant task of rejecting Rosa and tried to ignore the pain that started in his chest.

* * *

"Wow," Varric said upon seeing Solas at lunch, both brows raised with surprise as he gave a dry chuckle. "You look like you had a rough night, Chuckles."

Solas set his tray down and, before he could stop himself, glanced toward Tal's empty spot, shoulders slouching at the reminder he wouldn't have the younger, lighthearted elf's presence as a distraction. Dragging a spoon through his chicken noodle soup, Solas evaded Varric's stare as he answered the dwarf's question. "Tal has undergone his Harrowing now as well. You should see him thirty minutes from now when the mages take their lunch."

Varric nodded, his expression softening. "I'll look for him and let you know at dinner. Sorry to hear you're toughing it out alone now."

"I appreciate that," Solas said, smiling gently.

"Here," Varric said as he dug into his overcoat inner pocket and produced his infamous silver flask of whiskey. Shaking it to let Solas hear the fluid sloshing inside it, Varric extended it out across the table to him. "You look like you could use that last sip more than me today."

Solas gazed at the flask, weighing his options, and eventually reached for it. Unscrewing the cap, he nodded his thanks to Varric. "You are too kind, Master Tethras."

"Hey, I know you brooding elf types like your misery and in my experience that stuff works if you won't or can't talk about it." He pointed his meaty index finger at the flask and Solas, on cue, tossed it back to swallow the last mouthful. The whiskey burned all the way down his throat, its taste hard and rough around the edges. Solas puckered his lips at it, remembering with a twist of pain between the ribs the sweet delights of Elvhenan's enchanted foods and wines—lost now forever unless Solas destroyed the Veil and this world with it.

"So…" Varric said, rubbing his hands together with a scuffing sound. "You want to talk about what's eating you, Chuckles?"

Screwing the cap back on Varric's flask, he passed it back to the dwarf as he said, "Not particularly."

"You sure?" Varric pressed as he tucked the flask back into his coat pocket. "Talking it out helps. And you know you can trust me. I hate being here as much as you do. I mean, I have so much shit to do cleaning up the mess in Kirkwall right now it'd give me nightmares for sure—if I could dream, of course. Thank the Maker I can't!"

Solas chuckled despite his glum mood. There were times he could just barely agree with that sentiment. His life would be a lot simpler if he had been born a dreamless dwarf and not a Dreamer, let alone an Evanuris. "I have never been dreamless," he told Varric. "I am unsure I can even imagine what it's like."

Varric snorted as he cracked the loaf of bread that'd come with their lunches in half and proceeded to dunk one end in his soup. "It's easy. I close my eyes, fall asleep, and wake up with the vague sense that time's passed and…that's it. Easy."

"The wonders you miss, Child of the Stone," Solas lamented.

Around his mouthful of bread, Varric grunted. "Eh. Spirits? Demons? Weird hallucination shit…I'll pass. Life awake is crazy enough as it is. I don't know how you people can stand it. But, never mind that. We're off track."

Solas frowned. "Off track from what, may I ask?"

"Off what's eating you, Chuckles," Varric said, smirking at Solas' sour look. "C'mon. If you won't tell me at least let me try to guess."

Solas rolled his eyes as he grabbed his spoon and prepared his first mouthful of soup. "If you must. There is nothing I can do to stop you."

"Excellent," Varric said and clapped his hands together as he grinned like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. His brown eyes narrowed into slits with concentration as he stared at Solas, scrutinizing him as if the answer to his curiosity would be written on the elf's face.

Thinking that brought a flicker of memory to Solas' mind from the previous night: Rosa pressed against him, saying, _"I know you want me. It's been written on you plain as day for a long time now."_ He repressed a shudder and spooned more soup into his mouth to try and distract himself.

"Your magic has come in now," Varric said, puzzling out the mystery aloud. "So you _should_ know you'll soon be joining Stoic and Violet with the grownups…" Solas shot the dwarf a quick, annoyed glare at that comment. "That means you're not upset about the Harrowing and eating here alone with just me. Besides, you're always the quiet one, so that's not it." He hummed in his throat and gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Must be Violet."

Now Solas stopped with shock, his spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth, lips parted to receive it as his eyes darted to Varric. At the dwarf's knowing smile, Solas pushed the spoonful into his mouth and swallowed before slowly lowering his spoon into his bowl. He was silent for a moment and then reached for his bread, breaking off the end of it and dipping it into his soup the way Varric had done earlier as he made up his mind to ignore Varric's prodding.

"Andraste's ass," Varric cursed, laughing. "Revas, in a place like this it's not exactly hard to guess what's going on. It's either Templars abusing you or it's something with the other mages—and it's pretty obvious you and Violet have a thing for each other."

_Was it that obvious?_

Studiously ignoring the dwarf, Solas continued chewing on his bread.

"Fine," Varric said, a note of both irritation and dry amusement coloring his gravelly voice. "You don't want to talk about it, I can respect that." He leaned closer over the table. "But you _should_ talk about it. It'll do you good."

Sitting back in his chair, Varric gazed at his nails critically, lips twisting as Solas remained silent. "So…you made a move and she rejected you? Is that it?"

Solas glared and finally spoke as he swallowed his latest mouthful. "I have already said I have no wish to discuss it."

Varric smirked. "That sounds like a yes to me."

"No," Solas protested and then scowled as he turned his head, feeling warmth spread over his cheeks. He bit his tongue, knowing he should let Varric think whatever he liked, but his stubborn pride had made him blurt out that objection before he could consider it. This was the same detestable flaw of his character that had gotten him into trouble repeatedly in Elvhenan and then again now in the tower as Rosa and Tal used it to coerce answers from him in Varric's silly _I Never_ drinking game.

Seeing Varric's amusement at his discomfort, Solas cursed. _"Fenedhis."_

"So she made a move on _you_?" Varric asked, his delighted smile spreading into an all-out grin. As Solas glowered and provided no answer, the dwarf laughed and sat back hard in his chair, making it thump. "I should've known." He shook his head, features warping with bemusement. "But that's just confusing. She made a move on you and you're upset about it? Must've been _some_ move."

Solas rolled his eyes and returned to eating, pretending that the tips of his ears weren't burning.

"Well," Varric said, clearing his throat as he switched topics. "In other news, I'm sure you, Violet, and Stoic will all be pleased to hear the investigation into that death among the Templars has been dismissed."

Solas looked at Varric with renewed interest. "Indeed?"

"Yeah," Varric agreed as he began to stir his soup, clearly considering eating it. "The Seeker seemed convinced the Knight-Commander was paranoid and that, in the interest of the tower's peace, it didn't make sense to be dragging in half the mages for interrogation." He let out a dry grunt. "I gathered that the guy who died wasn't exactly well liked. Figures, since he's from Kirkwall."

"I imagine the Knight-Commander did not approve of the Seeker's dismissal," Solas murmured. "Do you believe she will reopen it once the Seeker leaves the tower?"

"Maybe," Varric said with a shrug. "But I get the impression that'll soon be the least of her problems." Sensing important gossip, Solas let go of his spoon and leaned closer to hear Varric as the dwarf lowered his volume into a near-whisper. "The Seeker has an associate. A spy for the Divine. She was called away to Orlais a while ago for Maker knows what, but ravens come in all the time and just this morning the news the spy sent seemed to really shake her up."

"You do not know what it said," Solas said, guessing. "Yet you have some inkling?"

"Yeah," Varric muttered, scowling. "Based on how the Seeker acted afterward…I'd say she expects some seriously bad shit in the near future."

"Explain," Solas prodded, brow furrowing.

Gesturing with one meaty hand, Varric's expression warped with strain as he apparently struggled for words. "She…looked grave. More than usual for her. And trust me, I've been around her long enough to read her. Anyway, she didn't reply, which tells me the spy was sending a sort of heads up, not typical correspondence. And then she went to meet with the Knight-Commander and interrogate her about internal security—as in, what the Templars will do if the mages openly rebel. Here. In this tower."

Solas' jaw clenched and he felt sweat break out over his body. "This tower is one of the most stable in the Free Marches, is it not?"

Varric's look was grim. "For now," he said, cagily. "But I'm guessing the Divine and the spymaster know something nasty's coming that will make even a tower like this one lose its shit."

Feigning grave concern, Solas murmured, "Let us hope you are wrong, Master Tethras." But inwardly, he felt a flicker of tight anticipation at the prospect of escape in rebellion. He would have to relate this to Zevanni as soon as possible and probably Felassan as well, to try and ferret out what secrets the spymaster and the Seeker knew from the Divine that were so worrying.

* * *

After lunch Solas had instructions to report to the basic spell casting class taught by Yvette, where he had dueled with Tal yesterday. Leaving the dining hall alone without either Rosa or Tal to walk with him left Solas feeling hollow and chilled inside. He missed Tal's easygoing laughter and Rosa's bright, keen eyes and her coy smile. Though walking past the Templars—one of whom was Ser Jeremy—was less stressful as they ignored him now that he walked alone, it wasn't quite a worthwhile tradeoff.

 _You cannot allow these feelings to continue,_ he admonished himself. Befriending the siblings was one thing, but bonding closely with them was purely foolish. They would have to part ways after leaving the tower as the siblings would seek to rejoin the Dalish while he set out to join his agents and plotted to destroy their world.

What would he say to Rosa and Tal when they clapped him on the shoulder, the exhilaration and triumph of freedom pulsing through them, and asked him to join them in whatever clan they sought? He could never agree and they would never understand. Knowing Rosa, she'd see through any lies he offered as well.

Brooding and gloomy, he made his way through the halls and up several flights of stairs, ignoring the ache of his thighs—far diminished from what it'd been just a few days ago—and toward the training hall. But as he reached the corridor outside the training hall, he heard Rosa's musical voice call out to him in elven. _"Aneth ara,_ flat-ear, _"_ she greeted him, grinning as she stood up from the plush chair she'd been seated at along the wall. "I never expected to run across _you_ here, apprentice."

Solas froze, staring at her as the other apprentices heading to Yvette's class filed past him, tossing curious or irritable glances his way. Rosa had been sitting with a dusty tome in her lap, apparently pretending to study it. Solas saw the golden font on the spine— _A Study of Uncommon Spirits_ —before Rosa slammed it shut and casually tossed it onto the chair behind her, ignoring the massive bookshelf to her left along the wall.

Swallowing the sudden lump that formed in his throat, Solas dipped his chin to her in greeting as well. "Lethallan."

A warm smile spread over her lips. Solas willed himself not to stare, not to remember vividly and with longing how wonderful it felt to kiss her. In a low voice, she said, "I thought we might pick up our previous conversation—before we were so rudely interrupted."

Ignoring the frantic pulse of his heart, Solas evaded the topic. "Is Tal well? Have you seen him?"

"I have. He's off at lunch already. He wanted to see Varric. I'll join him…eventually." Her smile brightened, though it shouldn't have seemed possible. She beamed, exultant and radiant and… _Fenedhis,_ he cursed himself. _Stop._

"I'm glad to hear it," Solas said, letting his shoulders slump slightly as he released some tension at that good news regarding Tal. He lingered, intending to bid her farewell and leave for his class—useless as it was for him—but, like an addict, he found it difficult to actually leave. The hall was empty. There was no one in sight, no one close enough to overhear…

Then, suddenly, Rosa stepped closer and snatched his wrist, tugging him toward the alcove where the bookshelf and the chair waited. Solas tensed, trying halfheartedly to pull away from her and stammering out faint protests, but Rosa shot him an anxious look and put a finger to her lips for silence. Realizing she had some other motive other than seduction in mind, Solas moved willingly with her into the alcove. A second later he felt the tingle and caress of her magic as Rosa cast a sound dampening spell over them both. The bubble shimmered over them, a slight discoloration in the air that kept their words obscured from everyone outside.

"About last night," she blurted, her gaze intense but somber as she stared at him, shoulders squared with tension. "I was…a little forward." She shrugged, biting her lip as she averted her gaze from him. "And I…apologize for that. But—I need to talk to you about the demon. The Formless One or Raselan or whatever in the great Beyond it wants to be called."

 _Raselan, the Formless One._ Solas blinked, his lips parting with surprise. He'd been so self-absorbed with his own misery and mounting emotional entanglements that he'd forgotten the threat of the demon. Sobering and pushing aside his own angsts, Solas focused tightly on her. "It asked for my blood." He drew in a quick breath. "And I found it meeting with another Dreamer in the Fade last night. It must be stalking Dreamers."

Rosa's lips pinched together and her violet eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Wariness made him turn his head slightly, eyeing her obliquely with a half-frown, half-glare. "Why else would it be interested in one as uninteresting as myself?"

Rosa snorted. "Right." Her tone made it clear she thought he was lying but apparently didn't want to press the subject. "Well, I obviously can't give it your blood, so it will punish me." She fidgeted her hands in front of her, a clear sign of her nervousness. "That was the bargain. If I didn't pay it in blood—your blood—it would reveal a secret of mine to the Templars in their dreams."

Solas' stomach seemed to leap into his throat, cold with fear for her. "It means to kill you, most likely in some gruesome way. Demons of its type delight in cruelty and—"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "It told me the secret would cause suffering but wouldn't kill me." Grimacing, she added, "It…also seemed to suggest that the secret would somehow be about Tal. It gave me three days to make up my mind."

 _The Formless One does not wish to kill her?_ Solas frowned with confusion. He'd assumed after last night that it'd sought out Rosa only to try and force her to deliver his blood to it—meaning, it only took an interest in her to try and get to _him._ Now, if he believed Rosa's account and trusted that the Formless One wasn't lying, it seemed she was more valuable to it alive. _Why?_

Rosa sucked in a quavering breath. "Today is the last day I have to decide." Crossing her arms over her chest, she pivoted on her ankle, spinning away from him to face the stone wall adjacent to the bookshelf and chair. "I'd like to say I'm not afraid of whatever secret it plans on use against me, but…"

"You would be a fool not to be afraid," Solas murmured. As she snuck a quick glance over her shoulder at him, Solas smiled. "And you are no fool. Far from it, in fact."

She returned his smile, appearing almost timid for a beat before she turned back to him, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Is there anything you can do to help me? Some way we can trick the Formless One? Outsmart it?"

Solas sighed. "Unfortunately I do not see an easy solution. We may be able to mitigate the damage of the secret it reveals, however." He paused, considering what she'd revealed. "You believe the secret is about Tal?"

"Yes," she muttered, scowling.

Drawing in a slow breath, Solas asked, "When you said the demon assured you the secret would not cause death—did it mean only you, or was Tal included?"

Now Rosa's violet eyes leapt to his, her jaw clenching with something akin to displeasure. "I…think it meant both of us."

 _The Formless One values them_ both?

Now Solas shook his head, wariness and intrigue and curiosity all warring inside him. "You are hiding something from me. If you wish me to aid you I need to—"

She let out a harsh laugh, baring her teeth in a savage false-smile. "Really, Revas? _You_ are going to accuse _me_ of hiding something? How about you tell me the _real_ reason why this ancient, powerful demon wanted your blood? Don't insult my intelligence saying maybe it's just after Dreamers."

Solas crossed his arms over his chest, withdrawing a step back from her, as far as the sound bubble would allow. "Must you _insist_ on positing your baseless suspicions about me yet again? I had thought we were beyond this, lethallan."

She shook her head, lips still drawn back from her teeth. "Why do you think I finally told you about this?" she demanded, edging closer to him, her body shaking with tension enough that Solas could see it. "You know too much. I don't know how, but you didn't find all of it in the Fade or perusing old documents from blighting Tevinter. I know that much. But you know what? I can overlook it because I _trust_ you, Mythal preserve me, fool that I am."

She stepped closer as she spoke and by the end of it placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing. Solas stood his ground with nowhere else to go, at the edge of the sound bubble, his heart pounding against his breastbone.

"I thought you could help me," Rosa said, voice and expression softening. "I thought if anyone could, it would be you."

Letting out a long breath, Solas felt his shoulders ease as some of his tension left him as he saw the anger had leeched out of her. "I want to help," he said gently. "Truly, I do. And that is why I asked about what you are holding back. Unless I understand the demon's motivations, I cannot hope to outsmart or outthink it. Surely you must see that, Rosa."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing, and Solas could have sworn he heard her heart drumming away inside her chest. Moisture sprang into her eyes and her chin wrinkled. "I…I can't." She stared into his eyes, her violet eyes darting from left to right, observing him, drilling into him. "Not unless I know more about you."

"There is nothing more to tell you," Solas said, his voice strained. He raised an unsteady hand and laid it over her cheek. The warmth and softness of her skin in the waking world sent shivers through him. Her mana was alive just beneath the skin and seemed to reach out to caress him just as the sound dampening bubble did. "Please," he begged her. "Whatever it is you feel you cannot share with me, I assure you that is not the case. You cannot shock me or make me think ill of you."

She gritted her teeth together. "I can't," she repeated. "I'm sorry…"

"Then we are at an impasse," he lamented, sighing.

"We don't have to be," she said, her voice low and dark, her eyes stormy. "If you would only tell me the truth…"

"I have," Solas said, a touch defensive now. "You refuse to believe it."

She let out a harsh, dry chuckle, shaking her head. "Because I am not a fool!"

Solas opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again. Several long seconds passed in tense silence with only the roughened sound of their fast breathing. Then, holding to his frustration, wariness, and annoyance at her stubbornness to accept his deception and simply trust him as she claimed she did, Solas let his hand fall from her and said, "Last night was a mistake, lethallan. We have lost sight of our goal in favor of needling each other over imagined secrets because of the mistaken belief that we must know one another better. An emotional entanglement benefits neither of us."

Rosa glared at him now, her violet eyes narrowed and too wet. "What are you afraid of, Revas?"

"I am not afraid," Solas protested immediately, bristling.

"Of course you are," Rosa spat. "I see it on you like words on a page. You're terrified. So terrified that you'd push me away when I saw—I _felt_ —how badly you wanted me. What is so Creators-damned terrifying about trusting me? About letting go and admitting you _care_ about something, about some _one_ other than yourself and getting out of this _fucking_ tower?"

Solas gawped at her, speechless. Before he could even consider formulating an answer, movement and a tremor through the floor made both he and Rosa turn suddenly to look out at the corridor. A Templar was charging at them, his hand on the hilt of his sword, which glowed blue with his magic-dispelling power.

"Shit," Rosa snarled and let the sound dampening bubble pop with a wave of her hand. Suddenly Solas heard everything: the Templar's pounding footsteps, the clanking of his armor, and the more distant battle shouts of the apprentices in the training hall conducting class as usual. Rosa edged herself in front of Solas, her posture protective as she glowered down at the charging Templar.

"By Holy Andraste," the Templar shouted at them, his hand still gripping his sword hilt. "Explain yourselves or—"

"Are you blind?" Rosa snapped, thrusting her chin out. "Or just stupid? I detained Revas for a _private_ chat. What did you think we were doing?"

 _What do_ you _think you're doing?_ Solas raged inwardly, cringing at her defiance as his stomach clenched with dread.

"You will not talk to me in so rude a tone," the Templar growled. "Or by the Maker, I _will_ send you to solitary confinement for a month!" His head swiveled between the two elves. "I sensed magic. Saw it." He pointed to Rosa, apparently deciding she held the full blame. "You know magic isn't to be used outside classrooms and training halls. And fraternization is not allowed."

Solas pushed Rosa by the shoulder, trying to stand more at her side rather than behind her, his heart pounding. He _had_ to protect her from her own foolish, confrontational nature or she'd wind up dead, just like Mythal. "Please forgive her rudeness, ser. Rosa and I were merely speaking for a moment before I attend my course. We did not wish our conversation to disturb the class in the hall and used a little known spell to dampen it."

The Templar glared at him through the narrow slot of his helmet. "I know you," he muttered. "You're the apprentice I wagered would die in the dungeons a few weeks back."

Solas did his best to smile politely. "I am sorry to hear you lost coin, though I am grateful to be alive."

"Ser Barth says you're the trustworthy sort, so I'll let this slide…for now." The Templar grunted as he released his sword into its hilt with a slick metallic _shink_ noise. "Word of advice, rabbit?" he said, his voice carrying the sneer Solas couldn't see through his helmet. "If you want to make sure you _keep_ living you should stay away from this one." He stabbed a finger to indicate Rosa. "Knife-eared bitch should have been Tranquil by now."

Rosa snarled at him in silence, defiant but mute, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Move along," the Templar shouted, waving a hand at Solas. "Off with you, apprentice."

Solas shot Rosa a brief look, feeling his chest constrict with worry that as soon as he left the Templar would punish her. But she simply shook her head once, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. "Go, flat-ear."

" _Tonight,"_ he told her in elven.

She rolled her eyes and waved him toward the training hall. "Just go."

Solas trotted for the hall, his heart pounding and his ears focused on the alcove behind him. He lingered in the entrance, straining his ears until he heard the Templar's armored boots stomping away and a last growled warning from the man, "Watch yourself, knife-ear."

 _You're terrified,_ Rosa's words repeated in his mind, taunting him. In that moment, he truly was as he wondered how he was supposed to hold true to his stolid loner self for the good of escaping the tower and destroying the Veil when he worried so much for her. They had almost been competing for the chance to protect each other, with Rosa putting herself in physical danger while Solas had opted for reason without knowing if this particular Templar was anywhere near reasonable.

 _She is vital to my chances of escape from this tower,_ he told himself. _That is why I acted as I did, why I feel as I do._

He sighed as he finally entered the training hall, wishing he were a more convincing liar when it came to deceiving himself.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

She paused, glancing at him obliquely out of one eye. "If that were true you'd stop lying to me." She waited a beat as the silence dragged out between them and Solas dropped his stare to the ground, mute. When it became clear he wouldn't answer, Rosa said, "You were right, Revas."

Looking back to her, Solas frowned. "About?"

"Last night," she bit out. "It was a mistake."

* * *

Original Author note: Oh, Solas! You got it bad. The angst train is here for the next chapter, but the situation will resolve somewhat in the chapter after next. I'm currently writing chapter 30. My beta STILL doesn't know my biggest secret, which honestly stuns me because she's like brilliant. She's irritable with me because I keep giggling that she hasn't guessed and she thinks she's basically learned and guessed the gist, which she has, but how could whatever specific secret I have be THAT important? Maybe it's not, but I think she's going to be smacking herself when I reveal it's been in plain sight all along.

New author note: I am really curious now, here on AO3, how many people might have picked out the BIG secret about Rosa and Tal. If you've read _The Masked Empire_ , you may have a few additional clues to aid you. My beta above had not. Also, I hope everyone appreciates and pays attention to my beginning quotes. Originally these were just tidbits at the start of every chapter, but here they are part of the "summary." And each was picked very deliberately. I took from tons of different sources, including a LOT from _The Masked Empire_ because Felassan has *SO MANY* great lines. But I also drew from Solas' Inquisition banter where I felt it was truly appropriate. I read that banter thoroughly to "read between the lines" for a lot of Solas' background and underlying biases/beliefs. In particular, this chapter's quote, I feel reveals Solas is kind of a lonely romantic. That is, assuming you read "love" in Cole's quote as romantic love rather than familial love or love between friends. I found the same sort of hints in Felassan's dialogue, too. Anyway, I'm rambling. *shuts up*


	19. The Pot and the Kettle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil  
> And grew jealous of the life  
> They could not feel, could not touch.  
> In blackest envy were the demons born.
> 
> The Chant of Light—Erudition 2:1
> 
> Rosa confronts the Formless One again. Solas accompanies her. Together they realize that unless they open up to each other they won't be able to weather the threat of the Formless One.

Solas opened his eyes in the Fade and found himself standing on the edge of a lake, choked with weeds. He recognized the brownish-red of blood lotus bulbs and smirked, remembering how poorly his agent Felassan was at identifying important herbs. As smart as Felassan was, he had never been completely able to overcome his pampered courtly upbringing. As a result he frequently, and hilariously, confused willow bark with maple bark, or itchweed with arbor blessing, and rhubarb with spindleweed.

Sensing a Dreamer nearby, Solas turned to observe the temperate forest around him, half-expecting to see Felassan on the rocky ridge behind him. Instead, Solas saw Rosa standing there, her brown hair unbound from its usual braids and knots. It was longer than he'd have expected when loose, hanging to the middle of her back and fluttering in the gentle breeze.

Taking a step up the slope, Solas called out to her. "Lethallan."

She turned her head, staring at him over her shoulder with squinted eyes. They stared at one another, the air tight with tension. Solas tried to ignore the pounding of his heart and the way his chest had seemed to shrink, restricting his lungs.

Finally Rosa crossed her arms over her chest and faced forward once more. But when she spoke Solas heard her clearly anyway, as if she uttered the words right at his side. "Have you thought of a way to deceive the Formless One?"

"No," Solas muttered. "I have not."

She nodded, her hair fluttering. "Then we should seek it out and strike a new bargain with better terms."

Solas grimaced. "I would not recommend that."

"And why not?" she asked, glancing again over her shoulder. "What do you know about this demon that I do not?"

 _A great deal,_ he thought but kept silent, his expression deadpan. "I know only that a demon such as the Formless One should not be engaged unless absolutely necessary. Our best option is to counteract the damage it causes."

She frowned. "And yet you sought it out just last night." Turning round and striding to the lip of the ridge, she glared down at him, arms still crossed over her chest. "Stop lying to me, Revas. I don't care how you know what you know right now. Just tell it to me straight."

Solas clenched his jaw, returning her glare with one of his own. "There is nothing to tell save common sense."

She scoffed, unimpressed, and strode away from the ridge again as she said, "Come with me or don't. I really don't care."

Gritting his teeth, Solas Fade-stepped up the slope, trotting after her through the green grass. "The Formless One is dangerous, lethallan," he argued, just behind her as they half-slid, half-ran down an embankment and into a boulder-strewn depression that was just big enough it might be called a valley. Avvar ruins created an archway between large boulders. Carvings of dogs or wolves stood guard on either side.

"Everything in life is dangerous," Rosa shot back, walking beneath the arch without slowing. "But unlike you, _I_ am not afraid. If this demon wants Tal, it will have to get through me to have him."

Bristling at her barb about his fear, Solas gnashed his teeth but refused to rise to the bait as he too strode beneath the archway. At the edge of his senses he could indeed feel a powerful demon's presence, undoubtedly the Formless One, and Rosa was headed in the right direction to meet up with it.

"If what you said is correct and the demon does not wish to peel the skin from your bones simply for the chance to hear the sounds you make in your agony, then it will not fight you." He reached out for her shoulder, intending to stop her and then thinking better of it, retracting his hand. Instead he shook his head and continued at the jogging pace she'd set through the boulder-strewn valley. "If the demon wishes you to remain alive it will simply flee. You will achieve nothing at best. At worst, you will enter an agreement with far worse terms than the current arrangement."

Now Rosa whipped around to face him so quickly Solas nearly collided with her. Rage darkened her face, mottling it red. " _Worse_ terms?" she repeated, lips snarling. "Maybe for _you._ The Formless One isn't going to punish _you._ "

He snorted, restraining a sarcastic, bitter laugh. _It would if it could._ As he saw the rage cool on Rosa's face he cursed himself for being a fool. She'd read the truth from his face. He blanked his expression and shook his head. "It is beyond foolish to toy with a demon of this power…"

She ignored his comment, edging closer aggressively. "You and the Formless One _know_ each other, somehow."

"No," Solas denied immediately. "It is simply that I know there is no bargaining with a demon such as this one. If it does not intend to kill or maim you and your brother than you had best thank your Creators or whatever false-god you wish to revere and accept this as is."

Though anger still shone in her violet eyes, Rosa's expression changed at his words into something dark with triumph and Solas felt his stomach drop, realizing he'd erred in some way. The coy smile spread over her lips, but it was hard-edged now with cold rage. "What happens if I give the Formless One your blood, Revas?"

Cold gripped him at the throat as he at once wondered if she had somehow lured him into a trap. In the Fade she shouldn't truly be able to draw his blood. They were merely dreaming, after all. But perhaps she had coordinated with Tal to trap him here as the young elf snuck into the apprentice barracks to collect a vial from him as he slept. Solas retreated a step back, raising his hands in a defensive motion before he could stop himself or weigh whether he _truly_ believed Rosa and Tal would do such a thing.

Rosa observed him, both pain and anger in her eyes. "Do you really think I would do that to you?" she asked, shaking her head in dismay. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

"No," Solas stammered, the single word croaking in his throat. He dropped his hands to his sides. "Forgive me, lethallan…I…"

"What would happen if I gave the demon your blood? Answer the question and I'll forget about all this," she said motioning at the boulders and the grass and the occasional Avvar statue or ruin. "I'll take your advice and just accept whatever comes. Just…give me the peace of mind I need. Tell me that what the demon would do with your blood would be worse for me, for you, for…" She broke off, spinning with her arms out to indicate the Fade. "For everything and everyone, for all I know."

Solas met her stare unflinchingly. "It would be worse," he told her and bit his lips to keep himself from saying more. With a vial of his blood the Formless One could free the Forgotten Ones from their prison if it ever found the Black Mirror he'd sealed them behind.

Rosa gazed at him critically for a long time. Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed. Solas dared not look away as he willed her to believe him without the full explanation of just _why_ he knew giving the demon what it wanted was impossible.

And then, just when Solas thought the moment would go on forever, Rosa's eyes suddenly clouded and her chin wrinkled. With a choking noise, she turned away from him and spoke her next words barely above a whisper. "I believe you."

Seeing and hearing her distress twisted something inside Solas' chest with sharp pain. He reached for her but Rosa stepped clear of him, spinning about to face him and shaking her head. "Who _are_ you, Revas?"

Solas stared at her, jaw clenched and a painful lump swelling up in his throat. He couldn't answer her, no matter how much he wanted to just to ease the desperation and pain he saw in her face. It wasn't for her own curiosity, he realized, but for her peace of mind as she'd said earlier. Knowing would give her solace against whatever the Formless One did to punish her—or Tal in her stead. But Solas couldn't tell her, because he couldn't take that risk. He couldn't be certain how she would react.

If she would accept him as a man, not a monster and not a god, and join him, it would be a blessing and a boon.

But if she saw a monster or a villain to pit herself against…Solas would have to kill her, and in his weakened state he might not be able to manage it.

The thought of killing her for _his_ mistake in revealing himself made him nauseous. It wasn't fair to her.

So instead, as she stared at him, awaiting an answer with a stricken expression of pain, Solas turned the question back on her. "Who are _you_ , Rosa?"

Anger and frustration furrowed her brow and Rosa groaned. Turning her head to the sky—which was bluish except for some green haze near the Black City—she wiped at her eyes. Sucking in a breath, she whipped round to face the path through the boulder-strewn valley. "I will never betray you by giving this beast your blood—or anyone's blood. I'm not a fool. I know that nothing good comes when demons and blood mix. But I can't sit by and do nothing. I _must_ face the Formless One again."

She huffed out a breath. "You can come with me and help or you can stay behind and stalk the dreams of the mages and the Templars. I don't care. Just don't try to stop me."

"I will come with you." Solas reached out a shaky hand, grasping her shoulder, but Rosa hissed through her gnashed teeth and pulled free of him, walking ahead by a few steps. "Rosa," he called her name, hoarsely. "I only wish to help you."

She paused, glancing at him obliquely out of one eye. "If that were true you'd stop lying to me." She waited a beat as the silence dragged out between them and Solas dropped his stare to the ground, mute. When it became clear he wouldn't answer, Rosa said, "You were right, Revas."

Looking back to her, Solas frowned. "About?"

"Last night," she bit out. "It was a mistake."

Solas flinched, as though her words had been a physical blow. Ahead of him, Rosa had already set out again, moving nimbly over and through the rocks. Something hard and stubborn solidified inside Solas, though he wasn't certain what to call it as he hurried after her. He would do what he must to ensure Rosa survived, despite herself. He would do right by her, even if she didn't realize or appreciate it.

They reached a line of green-gray fog that cut through the boulder-strewn valley—a demarcation point where Rosa's dream ended and another began. Rosa stepped through it without hesitation and Solas followed her, emerging out into the brightness of a desert landscape. He recognized the sand dunes and the ugly brown-gray craggy mountains in the distance and immediately knew this was the same dreamscape as in Rosa's Harrowing.

"Do you know this land?" Solas asked, turning to scan away from the ugly, dry mountains and the pale Elvhen ruins at their base, seeking other distinct landmarks.

"No," Rosa replied, her voice clipped and cool. They had not spoken since their fight earlier and her tone made it clear it was very much still on her mind.

Solas bristled with frustration but forced his voice to remain even as he said, "I believe this may be far western Orlais."

"Then the Formless One must be fond of Blight, sand, and nothingness," Rosa observed with a grunt. "Because there's nothing else here."

It had been a pleasant place once, ruled by Falon'Din and then Solas and Mythal, for a time. Somewhere out in this wasteland, Solas knew there was a temple where the Evanuris—including himself—had bound Falon'Din after the civil war. It was empty now, of course, as Dirthamen had emerged from uthenera after a few centuries and protested at his so-called brother's treatment.

Somehow the Dalish had twisted the bizarreness and cruelty of history into a tale of brotherly love. They'd forgotten that Falon'Din had ransacked his "brother's" lands when Dirthamen entered uthenera after a failed marriage with a noblewoman. They had somehow forgotten that Falon'Din's name had meant _friend of death_ rather than _friend of the dead_ to the middle and lower classes of Dirthamen's lands, that he'd torn peasants apart for sport. And they had characterized Dirthamen as wise and loving as he tried to find his "brother" when in actuality Dirthamen was a spoiled princeling who shirked responsibility and dismissed his "brother's" heinous crimes against his own people.

Dirthamen had despised Solas for ruling in his stead, affronted that Solas had done a better job of managing the lower and middle classes than he had. He'd also been furious to learn Solas had forbidden slavery in both his and Falon'Din's lands. Solas had been happy enough to cede power after Falon'Din woke—he'd learned by then that ruling outright he'd never change Elvhenan. The only way to change it was to rebel, to _force_ the entire society to change by way of violent revolution.

Solas kept all these thoughts inside as he jogged with Rosa across the dunes. They Fade-stepped periodically, or warped the dreamscape with their will alone to speed their passage. Distance and time were both illusionary or unclear in the Fade, respectively. The Formless One was old enough and powerful enough that it might warp time, speeding it up or slowing it down as it wished, meaning that dawn could be coming and Rosa and Solas wouldn't know. The Formless One disrupted their usual senses with its strength.

They reached the edge of the ruins where a few pale blocks had tumbled off from a column and been half-buried in the sand. The Formless One's aura tainted this area, thick and impenetrable. Solas felt it as a painful prickle on his skin and tasted it as a metallic tang, caustic and acrid. A cold shudder passed through him—ancient fear that rose from deep in his belly. This was the same aura that Tua'Veredhe, the Lady of Insanity, carried as one of the Forgotten Ones.

"Raselan!" Rosa shouted into the ruins. A dry desert wind whipped past them kicking up sand and tugging on Rosa's hair. The decorative surcoat leg-guard on the back of her Keeper armor flapped in the breeze. "Come out and face us, you lump of tar!"

Solas scanned the ruins ahead of them, straining all of his senses as he dropped into a battle ready crouch, hands elevated to cast. Rosa took a few steps forward, her bare feet kicking at the sand. At one of the blocks that'd tumbled from the column beside them she planted her foot as if striking a pose for a painting. Her hands opened and closed at her sides, flexing with her nervousness.

The Formless One's silken, androgynous voice rang out over the forlorn ruins, cackling. "Look what the night has brought me," it said, using the human tongue now. Apparently it had decided to cater to Rosa's preferences rather than his own, although during her Harrowing Rosa had seemed perfectly comfortable speaking elven.

Although the ruins rang with the demon's voice, it still had not shown itself. Rosa huffed, leaving the block and walking forward, a sway to her hips that drew Solas' eye with appreciation a moment before he shook his head and followed her, ready and focused on the confrontation that could yet come. Now was most definitely _not_ the time to let his mind wander.

"Let's talk, Raselan," Rosa said as she walked deeper into the ruins, making a wide berth around each ruined half-wall. "I brought Revas with me, since you seem to have a fetish for his blood. You should at least try to be polite by getting to know him a little, right?"

The hollow, disembodied chuckling rang out through the ruins again. "Oh, child of Dirthamen. You tread a narrow bridge over the abyss, heedless of the terrible truth that danger lurks in every direction—forward _and_ back."

The demon referenced him now, Solas was certain of it. Skin prickling with dread and anxiety, Solas edged closer to Rosa and hissed at her, "End this now, lethallan. _Please."_

She glared at him. "Leave if you wish, but I'm not going until I have what I came for."

"Your death?" Solas shot back, lips curling back from his teeth in frustration as he gripped her forearm. "Because that is all you will find here."

The Formless One cackled again. "Yes, listen to him, child. Listen to this man you know _so_ well, who you would trust with your life and your heart."

Rosa's mouth twisted down in a bitter frown as she jerked her arm from his grasp and faced the ruins again. "I'm not afraid of you, demon. I know better than to listen to your lies."

"Ah," the Formless One said, the single word dropping an octave. "But it is you who lie now. You come here hoping for a solution, hoping you can trick me, but you are not as slippery or clever as the Dread Wolf." Solas winced at the mention of his Evanuris name. "You hope that I will reveal something you can use against me—or to understand your companion." It went on and laughed again. Solas grated his teeth at the sound of its evil delight. "Pray you do not get your wish, child of Dirthamen."

"Enough!" Rosa roared and made a fast sweeping motion with her hand. The Fade rippled in response, the bright sunshine and the pale sand and ruins flickering like candles about to be snuffed out by a stiff wind. And then, in an open stretch of sand about twenty meters away, Solas saw the black shadow of the Formless One, shimmering as it expanded and contracted rhythmically as if breathing.

"I've come here to treat with you," Rosa yelled. "I want to change our arrangement. I cannot pay you in blood."

"Because you do not know the cost," the Formless One said, flashing in the sunshine. "The Prideful One knows, but he will not tell you. And yet, he also knows so little. He does not know who _you_ are, child of Dirthamen."

 _Fenedhis,_ Solas cursed inwardly, snarling to himself with irritation and the cold grip of muted horror. The Formless One seemed intent on baiting them against one another, causing discord. If it could turn Rosa against him enough…would she betray him and give the demon what it wanted?

"Do not listen to it," Solas muttered under his breath. "It will turn us against one another if we allow it."

"I'm not an idiot," Rosa grumbled at him over her shoulder. Facing the demon again, she shouted, "Shut up. That isn't going to work. Talk straight with us. What do you want?"

"You know what I want," the demon said, its watery surface gleaming as it rotated in the air above the sand. "And you know that if I do not receive it tomorrow I will punish you."

"You know you won't get what you want," Rosa snarled, lifting her hands and calling magic that Solas could feel as a charge in the air. "Let me out of the bargain or I'll make you sorry you ever—"

"You cannot hope to defeat it," Solas interrupted her, pleading. "If it values you alive you should be thankful and move on," he added in a quiet voice.

The Formless One cackled. "You should listen to your elders, child of Dirthamen. Except, of course, when he lies to you and hides the truth. But you are no better, are you?" it taunted and then its voice dropped an octave again until it sounded masculine and it slipped into elven: _"Hold this knowledge close to your heart,_ da'len. _Beings of the Fade and mortals of the waking world alike will come for you."_

Solas frowned, feeling dizzy as he tried to comprehend the demon's meaning. Rosa meanwhile, snarled and cursed under her breath. The words had clearly meant something to _her._ "Shut up," she snapped. "Or I will _end_ you."

"I like you," the demon said after it'd finished laughing at her. "But not as much as the Prideful One likes you." It switched languages then, uttering a guttural speech that made Solas cringe at first even as his mind recognized it as the Forgotten Ones' tongue. _"Trickster, you wish to save her from the suffering I will inflict when I punish her? I have another price that you may find agreeable—a price she did not share with you."_

"What in the Void?" Rosa asked, shaking her head and wincing at the ugly, guttural language.

Solas stood frozen, listening, refusing to reveal that he understood the language though words from it leapt to his tongue readily. He had learned the language from Tua'Veredhe, the Lady of Chaos, eons ago in Elvhenan.

" _My other price was a vial of her blood, to be left in the room of the Templar she slew from the Fade. You would spill her blood for learning your secrets. Would you share it with me to keep her from harm?"_

 _Never with you,_ Solas thought, though his mind spun at this new revelation. Why in the great Beyond would the Formless One want Rosa's blood? He pushed that thought from his mind.

Rosa was staring at him, he realized. "You understood that," she guessed, brow knitting and eyes narrowed. "Whatever it said just now, you understood it." Pain flashed over her features again. "Who _are_ you, Revas?"

"Do not let it turn you against me," Solas yelled to her. "We both have things we do not wish to discuss and they are not pertinent in this moment."

"But they will be," the Formless one laughed. "They will be, and how delightful the discord and chaos and despair of them. Your anxieties are like honey, sweet and delicious, a delight I have not experienced in many mortal lifetimes. But I grow tired of this confrontation." It rippled, flexing and contracting, glittering in the sunlight. "Child of Dirthamen, I admire your boldness and I will reward it. I will give you three more days to consider my payment and to brood over the cost of failure so that I may drink from your apprehension. I suspect such time will be sufficient also for you, Prideful One, to make up _your_ mind as well."

 _Or for us to turn on each other,_ Solas thought, his heart racing and his body doused with sweat. He eyed Rosa's ramrod straight back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her shoulders hunched. She was beautiful and brave and so cunning. Could he even kill her if she turned against him, or would she prove the stronger in his current weakened state? His heart throbbed with pain at the thought of ever discovering the answer to that question.

The Formless One seemed to shiver, bubbling and warping and losing its oval shape as it sank to the sand and evaporated. Rosa yelled in a wordless rage, hurling a Fade stone at it and then flinging chain lightning and fire, but the attacks passed through the demon harmlessly. She Fade-stepped through it, but the darkness of the demon's shadow only scattered like smoke. Seeing it had fled, Rosa let out a scream of frustration at the sky and fell to her knees, her face in her hands.

Solas stayed where he was, the tension gradually leaving his body. The Formless One had acted just as he'd predicted, refusing to fight them. That suggested it did value Rosa alive rather than dead. _For her blood…_

Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, Solas walked toward her, the sand hissing underfoot. Standing over her, his shadow shading her, Solas reached out and then thought better of it and withdrew it again. He swallowed, a lump growing in his throat at the wet snuffling sound of her anguish. Her brown hair had fallen over her shoulders, messy in its wavy curls.

Eventually, when he'd found his voice, Solas said, _"Ir abelas, lethallan._ But this outcome is not as bad as I'd feared. The demon has given us an extension and we may yet find a way to—" As he'd spoken Solas had laid a hand on her shoulder and Rosa jerked back from him, hopping to her feet so suddenly that Solas flinched backward and stiffened, bracing for an attack.

" _Us?"_ she repeated, snarling. _"We?"_ She shook her head, her eyes red rimmed and moist as she bared her teeth. "What did it say to you, Revas?" She stopped then, a strangled noise coming form her throat. "Is that even your name?"

Solas stared at her, his own eyes and throat burning with emotion. "Rosa…do not let what it has said unhinge you. You are cleverer than that."

Her hands curled into fists. "What did it tell you," she demanded again. "Answer me!"

Solas scowled. "It told me that I could spare you the suffering of the punishment it will inflict."

Now Rosa laughed bitterly, turning her head skyward again. She breathed raggedly, shoulders heaving and nostrils flaring, but as the seconds stretched out in silence she seemed to grow calmer. Finally she faced him again and let out a shuddering breath. "It asked you for my blood, didn't it?"

Solas pinched his lips together hard. "Yes. It did. I was not going to ask why. It is not my concern."

Something like gratitude flashed over her features before she whipped around so that her back faced him, shoulders hunching as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice was hoarse as she said, "Thank you, for that."

"There is no need to thank me," Solas replied gently. "Just as you said earlier, I know that nothing good comes from giving demons blood. We cannot give it what it wants."

She sniffed. "You were right, as usual. I shouldn't have come here."

"Perhaps not," Solas hedged, smiling at her back though she wouldn't see it. "But now we have three more days to contemplate the problem. There may yet be a solution."

"But only if we're honest with each other," Rosa muttered and sighed. She shifted and by her posture Solas guessed she was pinching the bridge of her nose.

His fingers twitched at his side, wanting to close the gap between them and hold her, but he sat on that desire as the sentimental foolishness it was. Rosa was not a weak woman or a longtime ally. She was actually the greatest danger to him in the tower aside from the Templars. If she were to turn against him…

 _No,_ he vowed to himself. _I will not allow that to happen. I must set things right._

But how? Could he convince her to trust him without knowing who and what he was? Could he eliminate the dangerous parts of his past to win her over without endangering her if she balked upon learning everything? Perhaps there was a middle ground that would satisfy her without exposing the full truth…?

He remembered Zevanni saying she had recruited Dalish to help her fight against Tevinter, but that they didn't know whom they served. If _she_ could do it…

Emboldened as his heart drummed with anticipation rather than dread, Solas said, "We must be honest with each other, yes. We cannot let the Formless One pit us against each other, and it will continue to do so for its own delight and to our detriment. Our only defense is to open to one another." He paused, letting a lighter note enter his voice. "Besides, I doubt we will ever be able to escape the tower if we do not trust one another. Do you agree?"

Rosa lifted her head, her hair fluttering against her shoulders in the dry breeze. She turned round to face him slowly, a wary expression on her face. She blinked at him, clearly baffled. "What?"

Solas smiled at her, trying to offer reassurance. "We must trust one another. I have not been forthcoming and neither have you. We can change that." He drew in a quick breath. " _I_ will change it and if you choose to follow in my example I will welcome it."

The wary, almost suspicious look darkening her violet eyes had yet to ease. "Why the change of heart?"

"Because of this," Solas said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate the dreamscape around them in the Fade. "Because to outsmart this demon, we must leave it no purchase to cling to, no arrows to use against us." He paused, flashing a lopsided smile. "Or _fewer_ arrows, anyway."

Her lips quirked up and then down again as she contemplated his words. "You truly think we have a chance of outsmarting it?"

"We may not," Solas admitted with a dip of his chin. "In that case I will work with you to mitigate whatever damage it does to you—or Tal." He took a step closer to her, slow but confident, and when she didn't recoil from him Solas laid a hand over her shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Regardless, you were right about me. I have been…afraid. Unnecessarily, I expect." He stared into her violet eyes, hoping he didn't look expectant. Whatever secrets she held from him couldn't possibly be as dramatic as his own. If she never chose to divulge them the only thing that would likely suffer for it was Solas' curiosity. Anything pertinent to the demon's bargain would probably come out in due course.

She dropped her gaze to the sand, sucking in a deep breath through her nose. Slowly, she nodded. " _Ma serannas,_ " she said softly. Then, glancing up with a lopsided, tentative smile, she added, "Flat-ear."

"No thanks are needed," Solas assured her with a slight nod. "But as I am unsure of the time, I wonder if we might postpone this until tomorrow night?"

She made a face of disapproval. "And lose a full day when we could be plotting against that tar-ball?" She scoffed, though her tone was lighthearted as she scolded him: "Stalling for time, Revas?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes with irritation—but also amusement. "Your confidence in me is truly inspiring, lethallan."

She let out a light chuckle. "How about compromise then?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Sneak into the library in the morning instead of attending your classes."

Solas frowned. "We could be overheard." A mischievous, playful gleam entered her violet eyes at his words and Solas felt himself flush with heat as he realized how she could have interpreted what he'd said a very different way.

"Don't tell me you don't know the sound dampening spell," she said and then, smirking, leaned closer to him so that the breath of her next words puffed over his cheeks, lips, and chin. "And I can be quiet, I promise. What was it you called it when I snuck into the library last time?" She grinned. "Ah, that's it: _Subtle._ "

Solas' guts seemed to twist themselves in knots of anticipation, the tense excitement of her flirtatious teasing, but he swallowed _hard._ He wasn't appeasing her with a partial truth of who and what he was to win her affection. This was only to gird themselves against the Formless One. He was supposed to _reject_ her advances…but, _fenedhis!_

"You are _anything_ but subtle," he murmured, trying to keep his voice even and finding that somehow it'd dipped into a more flirtatious note.

"Guilty." She shrugged, smirking. A little wrinkle formed in the bridge of her nose and Solas admired it, fighting to contain and ignore the warmth blossoming inside him at the sight of her approximating a mood that _could_ be called happiness. Seeing her angry and distraught and suspicious of him had curdled his stomach acids and made him taut as a bowstring.

"I have a bad habit," she went on, her smile softening and her eyes darkening a bit. "I act before thinking. Like with the Formless One just now. And…like last night." She swallowed audibly, her violet eyes darting away from him. "You tried to ward me off." She cleared her throat, awkward at the topic. "Both times. I didn't listen."

Solas lifted both palms to her, a soundless cue to signal silence. "You do not need to explain yourself, lethallan…but I'd prefer not to discuss it." The wounded look that flashed over her features seemed to twist a knife between his ribs so he hurriedly explained, "There are...considerations. Regarding my past and what I plan on doing after we escape the tower." He sighed, withdrawing back from her a step. "I will tell you more about it later." Smiling slightly, he added, "In the morning when I meet you in the library."

She nodded, a small smile spreading over her lips. "All right. I can accept that answer." Brightening, she pointed a finger at him. "But I'll hold you to it, flat-ear."

Solas chuckled. "I would expect nothing less from you," he fell silent a moment and then let himself say her name and not the distancing elven term for _cousin._ "Rosa." Hearing his voice, however, brought heat to his cheeks at how…intimate it sounded.

"Revas," she returned, eyes dancing though her smile remained tight and small. "In the morning then."

"In the morning," he agreed.

 _Fenedhis, what am I going to tell her?_ He had to seek out Zevanni with what little time remained in this night and consult her. As he felt Rosa's presence disappear from the dreamscape around him, Solas closed his eyes and imagined his agent in Tevinter. Mere seconds later he opened his eyes to see her standing before him in plain leather armor, a campsite behind her in a field of yellow-brown grasses.

" _Hahren,"_ she greeted him, grinning. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Well," Rosa said, growing impatient at his silence. "Say something." Pausing a beat, she flashed a lopsided, awkward smile as she tried out his actual name rather than his alias. _"Solas._ Don't stand there like a hare in the wolf's gaze."

He frowned at her description— _wolf._ Swaying from one side to another to satisfy the anxious energy within him itching to find a way out, Solas asked, "What do you wish me to say, lethallan?"

She heaved a long breath out and then in again. "I need to know who you served in the court of Arlathan."


	20. Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have both seen terrible things. We have watched death and destruction render that which we love unrecognizable. It is calming to see something familiar in another."—Solas, party banter w/ Blackwall
> 
> Solas and Rosa have a much needed chat about who they really are and how they know what they do. Of course, neither of them reveals everything...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Mild Templar vileness again. Mention of sexual abuse.

The classrooms where apprentices learned religion, history, penmanship, and arithmetic were two levels above the library, one of the reasons Solas had spent his days while weak and without magic working there rather than starting lessons. To meet Rosa there required him to linger in the apprentice barracks, pleading some excuse about feeling unwell and needing to remain close to the privy. When most of the other apprentices had left for their courses, Solas headed to an entirely different stairwell to reach the library, muscles taut with tension the whole way. He was certain that at any moment a Templar or mage would spot him and usher him away or question him. Or worse.

At the stairs, his fear almost became reality when he heard a Templar's armor clanking on the steps. Heart racing, Solas made up his mind to take a calculated risk and use a stealth spell. The stairwell was circular, with broad landings halfway up each flight and as this was the deep interior of the tower it lacked windows, making for dark, dingy lighting. Ideal conditions for invisibility.

Sucking in a breath, Solas summoned the barest hint of mana to call forth the spell, and then pressed himself tight to the wall of the landing. The Templar's tread continued on, unaffected, which suggested he hadn't noticed the mild presence of magic. Solas saw his silverite armor, glinting in the dimness of the guttering torches lighting the landing. The Templar's eyes appeared bleary through his helmet. Solas guessed this man had patrolled through the wee hours of the morning and was now retiring to the lower levels of the tower to rest.

The Templar strode past him and Solas left the wall, tiptoeing toward the next set of stairs. The Templar behind him halted, grunting and sniffing. Solas had a moment of both sharp fear and embarrassment as he wondered if it was magic, a subtle sound, or smell that'd alerted the man. He lingered in the shadowed part of the stairs, waiting as the Templar looked around, brow furrowed with bafflement. A few seconds later the man muttered under his breath and continued on his way, dismissing whatever it was he'd heard, sensed, or smelled.

 _I will be very grateful for the bath tonight,_ Solas thought grumpily. His skin felt grimy and his clothes a tad bit greasy. Weekly baths were just not frequent enough when, in Elvhenan, he'd easily conjured one nightly or at any time he desired with but a thought.

Pressing onward with the stealth spell still ongoing, he reached the level where the library was located and stood before the door. Exhaling, he released the spell and tore open the door, knowing from experience that it would whine on its rusty hinges no matter what he did. Inside the musty smell of old books hit his nose and he sighed at the warmth of nostalgia for the Elvhen library construct hit him. The lower level was empty as far as he could see, abandoned so early in the morning. Mages typically didn't rise until later, and enchanters after them to accommodate their different eating schedules.

Up from the second level then, Solas heard a soft hissing sound of someone trying to get his attention. Gazing up, he saw Rosa standing beside one of the classrooms there, its door ajar. When he met her stare she jerked her head toward the classroom behind her and then backed quickly into it, disappearing.

Solas headed for the stairwell to the second level and ascended it, his stomach twisting on itself with nervousness. If she saw through him or made connections he had not anticipated—he would have to kill her. The thought of it had stolen his appetite all morning and made his false complaints of a stomach ailment far more realistic as he'd been unable to eat breakfast.

Entering the classroom, he had a moment to see Rosa sitting on the writing surface of a desk on the far wall, and then he flinched as she used magic to shut the door with a push of her hand on the air. It slammed, loud enough to rattle the metallic handle and let out a reverberated bang. Solas cast a short glare at her as his heart pounded on his throat from the loudness of the noise. "Are you _trying_ to draw Templar attention, lethallan?" he asked irritably.

"Relax," she told him with an idle wave of her hand. "I talked to one of my roommates so I know the rotations. The mages make it their business to know who will be on patrol and where at all hours. All the better for mischief. No one will have been close enough to have heard that right now." As she spoke Rosa shifted a leather pouch slung over her shoulder to sit in her lap and unlatched it, folding the flap up to dig inside it. "Hungry? The mages and enchanters get _way_ better breakfast than the apprentices."

"Perhaps later," Solas admitted, struggling with the nervous desire to sway from side to side with his inner tension. "I'd prefer we spoke first. There is much to tell."

Rosa dug out a sweet bun slathered in frosting and made a noise of pleasure in her throat as she licked at the sticky coating. "You sure? Because if there's one thing the _shemlen_ do well, it's baked goods. This is cinnamon-sugar and apple, Revas. _Cinnamon. Apple._ "

Solas watched as she bit into the bun, eyes fluttering shut with enjoyment. "Mmm," she moaned.

The sound she made prompted him to give in to his nervous swaying, his fingers brushing against his thighs as he tried to remain stolid and neutral despite the warm, bubbling sensation inside his chest. He wanted to let go and chuckle at her delight, but the prospect of what lay ahead of them remained too intimidating and stressful. He must remain aloof or risk being unable to dispatch her. His only advantage would be surprise as she surely had more mana than he currently.

Then, abruptly, he felt and heard the _whump_ of a spell and looked up to see that Rosa had cast a sound dampening bubble over her half of the room. He could no longer hear the sound of her enthusiastic chewing, but he could see her violet eyes watching him and her lips curling in that coy smile of hers as she finished the sweet bun. She motioned at him to enter the bubble and he stepped forward, passing through it and feeling his skin tingle pleasantly as her magic recognized him as friend and welcomed him.

Inside the bubble he could hear Rosa sucking the frosting from her fingers and frowned, trying not to fidget again. "We should begin," he suggested. "I have no desire to be caught."

She patted the leather sack on her lap, still lumpy with more food he suspected. "That's what this is for. If we get caught, we have a plausible story for why we're here. You wanted a better breakfast than the shitty bread they give the apprentices and I, being the compassionate sap I am, decided to give it to you." Reaching into the bag again, she pulled out another sweet bun and extended it out to him. "So, take it."

Solas sighed and accepted the sweet bun, frowning as it immediately made his fingers sticky. Despite the twisting in his stomach, Solas forced himself to tear a chunk off and shove it into his mouth. Surprisingly, the sweetness and bite of the cinnamon with the fluffy bread immediately set his mouth watering. He chewed with vigor, trying to ignore the weight of Rosa's gaze on him.

"Told you they were good," she said, chuckling.

He nodded to her. "I was a fool to have doubted you, lethallan."

She sobered, her brow knitting. "Lethallan." Drawing in a deep breath, her eyes dropped to the floor. "I wonder how true that actually is." Resting her elbow on her knee and then leaning her chin onto her palm, she tapped her fingers on her lips before asking, "So, who are you, Revas?"

Using the sweet bun now as a distraction, Solas continued to pick at the treat, savoring the flavor even as his stomach clenched and roiled with anxiety. "My name is actually not Revas," he admitted in a slow, cautious voice. "That was merely the name I chose to provide the Templars when I was captured. Names hold power and I wished to remind myself of my goal each time my new name was spoken aloud."

"I guessed as much," Rosa revealed, smiling her coy smile. "But, to your credit, only after Rogathe and the Formless One kept calling you _pride."_ She cocked her head to one side. "I'm guessing your actual name is _Solas?"_

He nodded solemnly. "It is indeed, though I have grown rather fond of _Revas."_

"They're both good names," Rosa said approvingly. "You chose well."

Solas chuckled, some of the tautness in his shoulders easing. He tugged at the next layer of the coiled sweet roll, waiting for her to probe for more. Zevanni had advised him not to provide information as much as possible. _"Let her guess,"_ her voice echoed in his head. _"Let her fill in blanks while you provide as little as necessary to satisfy her. It's a seduction, really. Give her enough and she will stop caring that she doesn't know everything._  It turned out. much of his agent's tips on recruiting the Dalish were similar to recruiting  _anyone,_ with a few notable exceptions. 

"Am I right to assume you aren't Dalish?" she asked, shifting in her spot to sit up and dig into the pouch in her lap again. "Not even half-Dalish like you said?"

"I am not," Solas revealed, hesitating to swallow the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth borne of apprehension. "I am what you have suspected."

Her violet eyes narrowed. "You were a sleeper. The tomb the Templars found you outside of was your uthenera chamber."

He met her gaze and held it. "Yes." His stomach did flips, like a rat desperately trying to flee a sinking ship.

Silence reigned for a beat and when Rosa spoke again Solas didn't miss the hoarseness in her voice or the unreadable look that flashed over her features. "You are Elvhen. You lived during Elvhenan? Before the fall of Arlathan."

"Yes," he revealed.

Rosa sucked in a breath, her eyes squeezing shut as if his answer had somehow caused her pain—but only for an instant. Opening them again, she said, "You were part of the court. A noble."

Her confidence gave him pause. Staring at her over his sweet roll, Solas swallowed hard, trying to ignore the churning inside him. How had she guessed that? But Zevanni had advised him not to deny anything unless it was truly damning and incorrect, or else he'd rouse her ire. _"From what you've told me, this shem-Dreamer is a clever little minx. Let her know she's right when she's right. If you don't she'll never trust you the way you need."_

Such advice would have held true in Elvhenan as well, but Solas had to concede that Zevanni had the greater experience in interacting with shem-elves and inspiring their trust, particularly the Dalish. So far Solas had only managed to incite Rosa's suspicions, but she'd tolerated it because of his value to her in aiding her with Rogathe. If he hoped to recruit her, he must do it carefully. Any failure and all would be lost…

There was only one vital thing Zevanni had advised he _never_ discuss in any detail—the Evanuris, especially himself. That was an obvious bit of advice Solas would have reached himself, but hearing it reinforced from Zevanni only emphasized it. _"Do not challenge her faith, ridiculous and insulting as it may be. Let her believe Arlathan was a court like Orlais and that her Creators resided on high and almost never interacted with the People, noble or not."_ That had been Zevanni's strategy with recruiting the Dalish, so it seemed a good one for Solas to use on Rosa.

"I was," Solas admitted and then, taking a risk, decided to turn the question back on her. "Was that merely a guess or is there something your clan knows that all others have forgotten?"

Rosa's smile eased into something less coy and more genuine. "I suppose it's fair that you ask _me_ about my secrets now." Shrugging, she stared down into her lap at the sweet bun she'd pulled out but had not yet taken a bite from. "Honestly, I guessed based on the way you talk, the way you eat, the way you conduct yourself."

 _Fenedhis,_ he cursed himself and tried not to frown with disappointment at how easily she'd read him. But, in the set of her mouth, Solas thought he detected something else, something hidden. "That is not all, I suspect. You know something else."

"I do," she hazarded, pinching her lips together and still not meeting his gaze. Bringing a finger to her lips, she sucked the frosting from it before explaining: "The sleeper my clan protected and nursed to health shared many stories with us. He was also a noble in the court of Arlathan." Her violet eyes at last met his. "The stories were passed down from Keeper to Keeper, to preserve them."

Solas forced himself to keep breathing despite the chill spreading through him. He should have foreseen this. The Dalish were obsessed with preserving the past. Of _course_ a clan like Rosa's would keep detailed records of the noble who'd woken from uthenera. "I assume your Keepers tried to share these tales at the Arlathvhen?" Solas asked, trying to keep her talking to learn just how much she knew of Arlathan's court without revealing anything himself.

Rosa's eyes narrowed. "Some of what the sleeper told us was…" Her nose wrinkled. "Blasphemous."

"I see," Solas hedged, clearing his throat, desperate to appear as though he didn't feel certain he'd vomit at any moment. "Then your Keepers felt they could not share the knowledge. It would not be welcomed." He remained impassive to hide how unsurprising this news was.

"Exactly," Rosa agreed and frowned. "But, point is, if you're worried that you will offend me by saying something about the Creators being fallible mages…"

Staring at her, Solas remained silent—stunned despite himself. How loose-lipped had this sleeper been? A Dreamer like himself—as he assumed this noble had been—would have woken knowing the Dalish would probably balk at the truths he had to offer. That was certainly the conclusion Solas reached during his uthenera.

He racked his mind, wondering at the motivations of this Elvhen man and who he had been. How shocking and awful to waken to this world where the People had been reduced to living as homeless nomads, repeating inane myths as history and withdrawing from the rest of the world to go slowly extinct. At least Solas had woken knowing there was still hope for restoration; but this Elvhen man would not have had that balm and would know he had only a few short years to live and die among the Dalish. Perhaps he had hoped to fix what little he could in that one clan? If so, he had achieved a small triumph in that his wisdom had allowed a Dreamer like Rosa to thrive post-Veil, educated and protected from both spirits and demons.

"Well," Rosa said, growing impatient at his silence. "Say something." Pausing a beat, she flashed a lopsided, awkward smile as she tried out his actual name rather than his alias. _"Solas._ Don't stand there like a hare in the wolf's gaze."

He frowned at her description— _wolf._ Swaying from one side to another to satisfy the anxious energy within him itching to find a way out, Solas asked, "What do you wish me to say, lethallan?"

She heaved a long breath out and then in again. "I need to know who you served in the court of Arlathan."

Now Solas narrowed his eyes, his heart racing and a cold sweat breaking out over his body. What was she getting at? Weighing his words carefully, he doled out the barest partly truthful description he could come up with. "I served as a lesser general in multiple conflicts and—"

"Which Creator did you serve in those conflicts?" Rosa interrupted, her expression and eyes carrying a note of intensity that made Solas' skin prickle. Whatever he said next was apparently vital to her in some way…

 _Do not lie,_ he thought as his jaw clenched. "Mythal." Her eyes widened at the revelation and the tight, coy smile returned to her lips. Solas couldn't tell whether his answer had been what she wanted to hear or not. His own curiosity piqued, he asked, "What do you know of your so-called Creators, lethallan?"

"I know only what the sleeper told my clan, which was quite a lot." At his expectant look she went on, "I know they had a civil war amongst themselves when Falon'Din made an ass out of himself, apparently, and attacked Dirthamen." She motioned at her face, indicating the vallaslin for Dirthamen. "I know they were not gods, just very powerful and ancient beings, and therefore flawed. I know Elgar'nan had a nasty temper and a bad attitude that would have put Templars like Curtis and Jeremy to shame."

Solas' knees felt as though they'd turned to rubber. As covertly as he could, he eased himself down to sit on the writing surface of the desk next to hers, never breaking eye contact with her. His chest felt hollow, each beat of his heart echoing through him like a drum. He knew he likely wore a stunned expression, and it seemed to please Rosa as she went on.

"Mainly I know a lot of gossipy stuff the sleeper told us to stop us thinking they were gods." Sitting up straight, Rosa grinned, beaming as the words spilled out. "I know Andruil was a real piece of work and more unstable than the Fade—she had a new mood every other minute. I know Ghilan'nain was a beautiful woman, but vain and young and foolish. I know June was obsessed with crafting and disappeared for centuries at a time to enchant things and design priceless weapons or find new spells. I know Sylaise was a mother to multitudes, much as Mythal was. But, unlike Mythal, she wasn't exactly faithful to June. But, since June was always away and more interested in creating _things_ rather than children, no one blamed her—not even June."

Solas shook his head. "Your sleeper told you all of this?" the doubt in his voice was unmistakable.

Rosa stiffened, the amusement leaving her face as she frowned. "Yes. But, it wasn't just him. He had attendants who woke with him and their stories all matched. How could we doubt it coming from so many ancient mouths? The stories they told us were all we ever asked for in return for sheltering them."

Suspicion twisted inside Solas. Cautiously, he asked, "How long ago did you say this Dreamer awakened? And what was his name?"

"Ivun," she answered without hesitation. "He woke in the time of my great-grandmother, when she was but a girl."

 _Ivun._ The name meant nothing to Solas, which suggested he'd been some lesser noble who supported an Evanuris other than Mythal. "And these stories have never been shared outside your clan in that time?" Solas asked tightly. Solas had always made sure to watch the dreams of the Keepers attending the Arlathvhen every decade to see what artifacts and knowledge they'd uncovered. He'd never seen any hint of what Rosa described.

"No," she murmured, frowning. "Like I said, it was blasphemous. The clan at the time decided it was best not to repeat them. The Keeper wrote everything down in detail and locked it away, only to be shared with Firsts. After so many years most of my clan knows very little of the full tale."

"Why is that, lethallan?" Solas asked, forcing his voice to remain even and gentle, though his hands kept twitching. "Your Keeper at the time could have simply taken Ivun and his attendants to the Arlathvhen. Some would have believed, blasphemous or not. But instead your Keepers chose to bury the knowledge, even within their own clan. Why?" The Dalish as a whole were too obsessed with uncovering the past to let such knowledge of Elvhenan be buried. There had to be something he was missing.

"The Keeper at the time and all those who followed were abiding by Ivun's own advice." She gazed at him, her eyes hard. "Because Ivun also told us that the conflicts of the ancients are not over."

 _Fenedhis._ Solas kept his expression as neutral as possible, nodding his understanding even as he found it difficult to breathe. How much did she know? What _conflicts_ did she mean? Could she already know of his goals? Feeling her keen eyes searching him and knowing she would have read his less-than-stunned expression, Solas asked, "What conflicts?"

The coy smile was in place again as she continued to stare him down. "Do you really have to ask?" Placing the sweet bun on her lap, she held up one hand and used the other to tick off her words as she spoke them. "The Blight, for one. Ivun said things the Creators did in a war with the Forgotten Ones was what first brought it on."

"I see," Solas murmured darkly with a knowing nod, still trying to mask the deadly stillness inside himself—the strangling grip of dread knowing that he might have to kill her. "He was correct, and I would indeed prefer to limit the knowledge that the People bear some responsibility for it, yes."

"Right," Rosa said, frowning. She motioned to the sound bubble. "Exactly why I wasn't about to let anyone overhear this. The shemlen hate us enough already. Ivun was right to warn us." Resuming her countdown on her hands, she said, "And, secondly, there's the Forgotten Ones. I know they're locked away somehow and somewhere, but Ivun said they still have servants working to free them." She grimaced. "Like the Formless One."

Now _that_ was a safe topic as Solas could be certain he knew where she stood on that conflict. "Again, your sleeper was obviously correct," he said, his heart calming slightly and his posture easing. The knot of unease inside him loosened—just a bit. "But it brings to mind a curious question: why is a servant of the Forgotten Ones targeting _you?"_

"Do you still serve Mythal?" Rosa asked him blankly, ignoring his question. Her shoulders had tensed and her eyes narrowed, sure signs that it was apparently her turn to be anxious.

Glad to have a question he could answer with ease, Solas said, "No. How could I, lethallan? Did Ivun not mention that she was murdered?"

Rosa snorted, picking over the sweet bun again. "C'mon, Rev—" She broke off, chuckling at her mistake and corrected it. _"Solas._ If you knew Mythal or any of the Creators you'd know she wouldn't let a little thing like _murder_ stop her."

At the amusement in her violet eyes, Solas felt himself relax slightly, enough that he could breathe regularly again and flash a small smile back to her. "Perhaps Ivun had some knowledge I do not. Are you suggesting Mythal yet lives in spirit?" He was bluffing now, hoping she did not see through it. He knew full-well that Mythal endured, but feigning ignorance—if he could do it convincingly enough to deceive Rosa—would expose how much she knew.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," she answered with an emphatic nod, though Solas noticed her violet eyes were dark. Was that because she suspected his deception or for some other reason? "I do not know how exactly, but Ivun seemed confident. She lives, though in what form I can't say. She doesn't exactly answer the People's prayers. But Ivun said she has worked from the shadows on some hidden agenda since the fall of Elvhenan."

He had to change the subject from the Evanuris soon or Rosa might start asking him what he knew of them—particularly of the two who remained free: Mythal and Fen'Harel. He decided he would use it to transition. "She was a magnificent woman," he hedged, letting genuine admiration sneak into his voice to sell the lie he was about to spin. "I entered uthenera shortly after I learned of her death—though I did not know her exceptionally well. The empire was in great upheaval at the time and I did not wish to endure it awake as I could do nothing to change it."

He glanced down into his lap, at the sweet bun, turning it idly in one hand. He couldn't leave off there in his tale, truth or lie, because it'd prompt her to ask about the fall of the empire. So he said, "I did not intend or expect to sleep as long as I did but…" He scowled. "Watching the People founder and become slaves…" He sighed with real despair, shutting his eyes a moment. "I was not certain I ever wanted to wake."

" _Abelas,_ Solas," Rosa murmured, dipping her chin and dropping her eyes to the floor. "I can't imagine how difficult all this has been for you."

Despite the knot still inside him, cold and tight, he felt something else stir as well—warm and soft with affection. Though his words had been partly untrue, the sentiment was genuine and so was Rosa's response as far as he could tell. It felt…good to unburden himself, to at least partially admit the truth and have someone from such a vastly different background sympathize rather than doubt or scorn him. With her vast knowledge of the past, of _actual_ history rather than the Dalish mythology, Rosa and possibly Tal as well, would make even better recruits to the Dread Wolf's cause…

Still, she'd asked about Mythal somehow in relation to his earlier unanswered question regarding the Formless One. Clearing his throat, Solas said, "I endured and I will continue to do so. There is no other choice, save death, and I am far too stubborn for that." He paused as she chuckled, her violet eyes bright. He'd known she would approve of that sentiment. Changing topics, he said, "You did not answer me earlier, lethallan. Why is the Formless One targeting you?"

Rosa blew out a breath, wincing, and then shoved the entirety of her sweet bun into her mouth. As she chewed it she kept her eyes closed and Solas waited, torn between amusement, confusion, and irritation at this unusual reaction. Finally, when she swallowed it and began licking her fingers, Solas let out a sigh. "We were to be honest with one another, lethallan."

"I know," she said, frowning as she pressed her fingers together, testing for stickiness. "And I have been." Her lips pinched into a hard line as she gave a half-shrug. "I just like to eat when I'm nervous. Truth is, the demon wants my blood probably for the same reason it wants yours. You keep calling me _lethallan_ and I expect it's truer than either of us knows."

Now Solas shook his head. "I—" He broke off, realizing that his immediate reaction of informing her that he had no living relatives and therefore they could not be related would be a mistake. _Do not correct her misconceptions._ Restarting, he said, "I do not follow your meaning."

Rosa snorted. "Liar. You think I didn't notice the way you looked at me that day in the library when I told you about Ivun? You realized then that I have Elvhen blood and you've looked at me differently ever since."

Solas frowned. "All elves possess Elvhen blood," he protested. "And they are not targeted by the Formless One."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. What I'm saying is that I'm descended from Ivun, a noble of Arlathan's court. And _you_ were a noble, too." She shifted in her spot, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him. "Were you a descendant of Mythal? Is that why you served her?"

 _Do not correct her misconceptions,_ he thought again, weighing the lie as it sprang to his tongue. Mythal had innumerable descendants, many of whom were unremarkable members of the court. If he posed as one of them, claiming nobility through blood rather than deeds or inborn power, Rosa would be less likely to search for some other secret—like that he actually was an Evanuris himself. The fact she assumed all members of court could eventually trace their lineage back to an Evanuris revealed Ivun hadn't told her everything. Plenty of unrelated Dreamers had ascended to Arlathan's nobility, though admittedly it was routine for nobles to be related to multiple Evanuris.

"Yes, a very distant grandson," he lied. "What was Ivun's lineage?"

She gave another half-shrug, the coy smile curling over her lips. "He was a grandson of Sylaise and June. So, maybe I'm wrong and you and I aren't very distant cousins after all, but we both have Elvhen blood from the Creators and the Formless One wants it for some reason."

Solas nodded, feigning agreement when internally he suspected she was lying. The Formless One _might_ seek June's blood to unlock a relic or some other artifact, but after so many generations Rosa should be as good as unrelated to the master crafter. Her blood would have diluted to the point of uselessness. Unfortunately Solas knew almost nothing of Sylaise and June's immediate descendants as he'd barely paid them any mind at court. Of all the Evanuris those two had been some of the most innocuous—though they'd done nothing to help their people or save Mythal. But, he suspected Rosa's tale was close enough to the truth that he shouldn't pressure her for more. This would suffice; especially considering how many secrets he still hid from her.

"So…" Rosa began, letting the word drag out. Sensing a topic he wouldn't like was fast approaching; Solas began to eat his sweet bun quickly, fighting to hide the way his hands and fingers shook slightly. He would require the energy if he needed to suddenly draw on mana. "Tell me about the foci," Rosa finished. "The truth this time. It's yours, isn't it?"

"No," Solas lied immediately, grimacing as she shot him a disbelieving glare. "I do not _own_ it," he explained—lying but with greater care now. "It was Mythal's, given to me as her general. It is a useful weapon and tool, allowing me to store magic."

Now Rosa arched a brow, apparently surprised. "Is it true what you've told the Templars then? That the foci took your magic?" She shook her head, frowning with confusion. "Doesn't sound like a particularly useful trick for it."

Now Solas sighed, pressing his fingers together as he felt the stickiness of frosting on them but refused to lick them clean the way Rosa had. How was he supposed to answer that? He decided to go with a hint of the truth and said, "I do not know with certainty. The orb does absorb stray magic. It may have drained mine when I woke. _Something_ certainly happened to weaken me."

Rosa nodded. "Ivun didn't have one, but he was a powerful mage from the moment he woke. Maybe it _did_ drain you…" Scooting over her desk a bit, she leaned closer to him and lowered her voice, "How powerful is the foci, exactly?"

Solas hesitated, staring into her violet eyes as he weighed his answer and finally decided to tell her a smidgen of truth. Averting his gaze, he said, "Should a mage of enough power and knowledge engage with it and manage to unlock it…" He pinched his lips together and sent her a grave look. "The resulting discharge of unfocused magical energy would easily destroy this tower, I suspect."

 _And tear a massive hole in the Veil…_ He didn't tell her, of course, about the other powers of the foci—such as the Anchor it carried and would bestow on the mage unlocking it. Assuming, however, the mage knew how to initiate the Anchor. Solas, it's intended carrier, could unlock the Anchor without unleashing the stored energy within it in a clumsy explosion, but someone like the First Enchanter or Rosa wouldn't and would succeed only in killing themselves.

"Could someone like the First Enchanter manage that?" Rosa asked, frowning as both fear and contemplation crossed her features.

"The foci requires more magic than any single mage in this tower could muster alone," Solas revealed. "It was a tool used by many, allowing us to pool magic between arcane warriors. As such, short of using blood magic to enhance one's abilities, the orb is safe—but I suspect the First Enchanter would not study it alone. It would be done in a small group and three Circle mages would certainly have enough mana between them to manage it."

Rosa smirked at him now. "No wonder you were scared shitless about them experimenting on it."

Solas chuckled despite the nervous twist of the knot in his belly. He could see the gleam of understanding and…respect in Rosa's gaze now and it flushed him with warmth. At the memory of their passionate kiss a few nights ago in the Fade, Solas suddenly felt his limbs grow shaky. Worried she'd sense where his thoughts had wandered, Solas cleared his throat and motioned to the bag in her lap. "Another sweet bun, if I may be so bold?"

She laughed as she sat more upright and dug into the pouch. _"That's_ what you call bold, Solas?" Holding up another coiled, frosting-laden sweet bun, she extended it out to him with a wink. "Elvhen or not, I may still need to call you flat-ear after all."

Accepting the sweet bun from her, Solas nodded in thanks to her as he began to tear into it. "Call me what you like, lethallan. It makes no difference. But we have strayed from our purpose in this exchange."

"The Formless One," Rosa said, sobering. "Do you have an idea of how we can—" She broke off suddenly, eyes springing wide and flicking past him, toward the door to the classroom. Before Solas could turn to react he felt the sound dampening bubble fade with a sharp _whump_ noise as it burst. Simultaneously he heard the harsh clap of metal Templar boots marching over the stone floor.

"What is the meaning of this?!" a female Templar demanded as she stomped toward them, one hand at the hilt of her sword while the other clenched into a fist at her side. Behind her a man walked slower, his pace more relaxed. Solas recognized him even from a distance and with his helmet on as Ser Bartholomew.

"Just sharing breakfast with Revas," Rosa answered coolly. "The bread you lot give the apprentices is foul. Absolutely shameful. I _had_ to share some of the good stuff with Revas or—"

"Give the bag here, mage," the woman ordered. She had stopped just within arm's reach of Solas, glaring through the slits on her helmet. Bartholomew lingered behind her, both hands at his hips as he surveyed the scene.

Rosa scoffed. "Fine, have it." She tugged the strap over her head and passed it to Solas who then turned and extended it to the woman. She riffled through it quickly, carelessly tossing out a few buns to clatter on the floor, flinging their frosting about.

Finally the woman grunted and pushed the bag toward Bartholomew, who wordlessly took it. Glaring between Solas and Rosa, the woman snarled, "I sensed magic a moment ago. Tell me your names."

"I recognize them, Ser Tess," Bartholomew spoke up from behind her. "The woman is Rosa, a mage. The apprentice is Revas."

"That so?" Ser Tess asked, grunting in her dry, cold voice. "I read a report from yesterday saying these same two knife-ears were consorting and using magic suspiciously. Ser Luther let them off easy. That was clearly a mistake." She turned slightly and slapped her armored hand against Bartholomew's breastplate with a clunk. "Ser Luther let them off because _your_ favorite knife-ear was there. But it's time you got a new favorite, Ser Bartholomew. This one's rubbish—a troublemaker as sure as shit, just like the savage bitch."

"We caused no harm," Solas protested. "We were merely sharing breakfast together, Rosa and I."

Ser Tess shot Bartholomew an expectant glare and the Templar heaved a sigh—the resigned sound of a man yielding to another's unpleasant opinion as truth. "You should have steered clear of this bitch, Revas," he said with a cluck of his tongue.

Solas felt Rosa tensing nearby and sensed the pull of her mana as a prickling of his skin. He turned his head to caution her—and pain exploded in the back of his head. The world went black, spinning. The next thing he knew he was slumped awkwardly over the desk Rosa had been sitting on and heard the elven woman cursing them. _"Shemlen dogs! Dread Wolf take you! How dare you hit him?"_

"Stand down, mage," Ser Tess shouted and Solas heard the ringing of her sword and felt the dizzying, uncomfortable brush of her power over him. "Or I will slay you!"

Rosa laughed, a cold, dry sound that would have sent shivers over him had Solas been fully conscious. He tried to rise, but the room whirled and his head throbbed. His stomach clenched and he had to swallow hard and close his eyes to keep from vomiting. Still, he managed to reach out with one hand toward the sound of Rosa's voice. His fingers brushed over her belt and then clutched at her arm. Squeezing, he tried to plead with her to submit, but all that would come out was: "Lethallan, _please…"_

Then he felt Rosa's hand grip his in return as she said, "I submit, just please…"

She never finished before the metal clank of Templar boots closed in and Solas dimly heard the sickening noise of armored knuckles striking naked flesh. Struggling to lift his head, though his vision closed in, Solas saw Rosa collapse from the blow, her limp body thudding on the floor.

Then Solas knew nothing more, for the darkness closed in on him, too.

* * *

An impenetrable haziness enveloped Solas' consciousness, holding him in its relentless grip for some unknowable length of time. When he woke, it was to the sensation of cold water dribbling over his face. He gasped and turned away from it, spluttering. Pain coiled over his skull in bands, hot and achy. He breathed through it as awareness gradually returned.

Blinking through the darkness, he saw an elven woman kneeling near him. For a moment his heart leapt in his chest with relief and excitement, assuming her to be Rosa. But only a heartbeat later he made out the black sunburst on her skin and recoiled, recognizing her as Tranquil.

Standing above the elven Tranquil was Ser Bartholomew, leaning against the solid wood of Solas' cell door and holding a small torch to provide the only means of light in the dank room. "Get him all cleaned up, Devesa."

"Yes, ser."

Solas winced with pain as the Tranquil woman moved at him again and he felt the dribble of cold water with a painful shudder. "What…has happened?" Solas asked as the Tranquil began wiping at the side of his face. Even in the dim light Solas saw it come away dark with blood.

Bartholomew let out a dry chuckle. "You irritated Ser Tess, apprentice. Stupid mistake, it was. Much as I like you, Revas, I can't be too lenient. Fortunately everyone knows you weren't the instigator. The knife-ear woman was." He broke off, sighing and shaking his head. "I would have thought a man of your age would know better than to fall for a demon like that wretch. But, Andraste save us, she _is_ a pretty thing, no?"

Gritting his teeth at the hot spurt of anger that lashed through him only brought on more pain. Solas hissed through lips that felt swollen. His tongue was dry and too big in his mouth. "How long?" he asked.

"Tess hit you pretty hard. It's been almost a full day since we dragged you here." He shifted, pushing off from the wall and glancing toward the closed cell door. "I'll look the other way if you want to heal yourself. Not allowed, technically, so don't mention it and be quick about it."

Drawing in an unsteady breath, Solas forced himself to thank the Templar. "I am…grateful." He reached for his core and found it sluggish but alive. Shaping a quick healing spell, he let it wash over him and shivered with relief as some of the pain and cloudiness in his head disappeared. The Tranquil cleaning away his blood had pulled the rag back when she sensed his magic but now resumed it, gentle but efficient.

"See, I don't like having to punish you—or any of the mages. It's bad all around. Bad for you, bad for us, bad for security…"

Solas was only half-listening as Bartholomew went on a strange half-lecture, half-confessional monologue. Solas sensed guilt from the Templar, doubt in his purpose within the tower. It was intriguing, but ultimately not his concern in the least. Compassionate Templars were not what he needed to further rebellion, even if he did appreciate them personally.

…And then Bartholomew's monologue took on a very sickening twist.

"I understand it must be difficult for you, Revas. You're a grown man and the Circle does not account for that when they put you in communal barracks like they do and house you with children. _Of course_ you're going to chase after the only grown woman around! Even if she is a knife-ear and a troublemaker who should have been made Tranquil."

Solas heaved himself into a more upright sitting position, turning to stare at Bartholomew openmouthed and stunned. "Excuse me…?"

Bartholomew shook his head and laughed. "C'mon now, Revas. Don't play coy. I understand. This is just between you and I. You know you can trust me, right? I've always disagreed with the rules against mages fraternizing with each other. It's ridiculous for the Circle to expect you all to live chaste lives." He smirked and motioned to the Tranquil. "Frankly, that's why I brought Devesa. You _do_ know they'll do anything you ask them to, right?" His smirk transformed into a leer that made Solas' stomach clench with revulsion. "And I _do_ mean _anything._ Half the tower uses them, Templars and mages both."

Devesa showed no reaction to this discussion, merely continued patting her wet rag along Solas' pate. Staring at her, Solas felt shame rip through him, sharp and heavy as it hit. He had recoiled from her as she represented the horror of this magic-hating world, but she was just as _real_ as Rosa, Tal, Varric, and Bartholomew. Long ago, as a child, Solas had witnessed slaves mistreated in just the way Bartholomew described. Like the Tranquil, the slaves of Elvhenan, marked with vallaslin that acted as a form of blood magic, had been rendered mindless drones. Yet that did not mean they felt no pain. It did not mean they suffered any less than a fully-conscious person placed in the same position of drudgery, servitude, and awful abuse. They simply could not protest or reveal that suffering.

His hands curled into fists and he felt his mana bubbling inside him, reacting to the rage igniting within. He had fought against such casual cruelty and tyranny over the powerless in Elvhenan, devoting everything he had to the cause to set things right. And all his efforts had done was destroy the People and create a worse world where not only slaves, but Tranquil existed as well. A world that despised magic _and_ free-will alike.

His own personal nightmare.

Sucking in an uneven breath, Solas stared at Devesa and vowed that someday she would be free. Most likely her freedom would come only in death, but perhaps there would be another way…

But not now. Not today.

Keeping his voice as calm and impassive as he could, Solas finally answered Bartholomew. "I have no interest in such contemptible behavior."

Bartholomew grunted. "That's what you think _now,_ but eventually…"

"Never," Solas said, not bothering to disguise his disgust now. He knew he should say nothing else but… "Only cowards and the truly monstrous prey upon the powerless," he spat.

"Careful now," Bartholomew growled. "A guy could think you were trying to offend him."

 _It is_ you _who offend,_ Solas thought. _The very fact you draw breath is abhorrent._

After the silence stretched out, with only the gentle wet tapping noise of Devesa continuing her ministrations on Solas' scalp, Bartholomew sighed. "Well, Revas, I tried to help you. I really did." He snapped the fingers of the hand not holding the torch and summoned Devesa away from Solas as he made his way to the cell door. It opened wide, creaking on its rusty, old hinges. Bartholomew ushered Devesa out first and then pivoted to stare at Solas with a mild frown on his face. "You just lost me fifty royals. I hope you're happy. You should have said yes to my offer."

Through gritted teeth, Solas asked, "How long am I to be detained?"

"Until your Harrowing," Bartholomew said and then stepped out, slamming the door after him and leaving Solas in the complete darkness with nothing but his impotent rage and the weight of his failures riding on his shoulders.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Solas," she said, her melodic voice caressing him, "If we care for each other, why deny it? One or both of us could die when we try to escape. The future is never something that's guaranteed. Only fools and cowards deny what's in here—" she laid her other hand over her heart as she spoke "—to try and protect themselves from being hurt."

Sobering then, she withdrew her hand and took a step back. "So," she began with a quick breath. "Tell it to me straight, Solas. Is there something here? Void take whatever happens in the escape and whatever plans we have for after. Now is all we have to worry about." Sucking in a breath, she repeated, "Is there something here, Solas?"


	21. Is There Something Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas: People should seize any chance for a moment's respite in times such as these. I am glad you've allowed yourself some happiness.  
> Blackwall: What of you, then? Have you found someone to share a moment's respite?  
> Solas: I find my peace elsewhere.
> 
> Solas must defeat a pride demon during his Harrowing. And Rosa offers him a bargain he can't resist: a chance to seize a moment of 'respite' by being honest with her about their burgeoning romance.

The Harrowing Chamber was much as Solas had seen it echoed back through the Fade during Rosa's ordeal. There were fewer Templars now, only about six of them in total. They stood in positions around the chamber, fully armored and ready for battle.

That count didn't include Knight-Captain Brycen or Seeker Pentaghast, who seemed to mutually despise one another, judging by the frequent glares they exchanged. The Seeker seemed to have the true authority here, standing in a position behind Brycen that indicated she oversaw the chamber's entire goings on and could stop it with a word or a gesture.

Brycen was the one who did the speaking, telling Solas that he had been taken to his Harrowing early as punishment for skipping classes. He must choose between becoming Tranquil and undergoing the Harrowing ritual now. Yet Solas, bored with it all, spent most of his time reading the enmity between Knight-Captain and Seeker. Finally Brycen said, "Which do you choose, apprentice?"

Doubtless they wanted him to elect to become Tranquil. Tranquil were the tower's greatest moneymakers. They were safe, responsible, and endlessly obedient. He could almost feel them trying to will him to that choice…but to no avail.

"I will undergo the ritual," Solas answered evenly. He stretched slightly in place, limbering up cramped muscles. He'd spent the better part of two days inside his lightless cell, half of it awake and half unconscious, waiting for them to call him for this foolish ritual.

The night before he'd touched Rosa's dreams and found her incensed that she had to spend some unknown number of days locked up—her sentence was longer than Solas' apparently. Their time to find a way to deceive the Formless One was fast disappearing. Today and tonight were their last chance, but no matter how Solas considered the problem he saw no way around merely accepting that the Formless One had won and trying to lessen whatever loss its punishment incurred. And, at least with his Harrowing completed, Solas could join Rosa and Tal once more during meals.

"As you wish," Brycen said and motioned to First Enchanter Braden who'd lingered behind Solas and out of sight until then. The First Enchanter carried a wooden bowl, smoothly finished and lacquered. The ritual lyrium waited inside it, brilliant blue and bubbling, as if eager for him to ingest it. Knowing where it came from—and the nastier effects it still had on him despite the Veil and his own weakened mana stores—Solas repressed a shudder of revulsion.

Braden smiled encouragingly at Solas. "Go on, Revas. I have faith you will persevere." He lifted the bowl higher, sloshing it slightly. He'd assumed Solas' hesitation was out of fear of the ritual, rather than unwillingness to consume the lyrium.

Returning the man's smile politely, Solas took the bowl from the First Enchanter and brought it to his lips to sip. The sharp, biting taste seemed to kick him in the mouth and spread warmth all the way down his throat to his belly. Swallowing a groan as he felt his limbs go hollow while the rest of him became as heavy as lead, Solas tried to drop into a prone position on the floor as gracefully as he could—only to collapse with a wheezing grunt. He would have laughed at the sound had his lungs and throat not gone numb as the lyrium drew his spirit from his body against his will.

Opening his eyes again, Solas found himself in a grassy plain. Tawny, dry grass stretched out on the hillocks as far as he could see. This was a land that no longer existed: a seasonal grassland that'd been destroyed during one of the Blights that'd created the wastelands of the Western Approach. Turning round, Solas saw rocky buttes, a lustrous red-brown in color. The air held a chilly nip in it as it swept over the grasses, rippling them like waves in a sea.

When he strained his senses outward he felt the painful prickle of a demon's presence. Based on the aura, which wasn't especially strong, he guessed it was a common type of demon—fear or desire or pride-based. Likely it was the exact demon the First Enchanter and his comrades had lured to this area of the Fade specifically for the ritual. As he stood motionless, staring into the horizon and wondering whether he should warp the Fade to bring the demon to him or conserve his energy for a potential fight, he sensed a Dreamer.

Turning to look over his shoulder into the depression between the tawny hills, he smiled as he saw Rosa—and then his lips parted with surprise as he saw Tal with her. "Greetings," he addressed them both with a friendly nod. Solas wondered if Rosa had told her brother about him but pushed the topic aside for the present. Best to assume Tal knew nothing until he learned otherwise.

" _Andaran atish'an_ , Revas," Tal spoke up first, grinning. Then he seemed to freeze, his mouth forming an O-shape as he gazed up at the sky, which held the bright, fractal colors of the Fade. "Whoa…what is this?"

"A memory Revas saw in the Fade of Elvhenan," Rosa explained before Solas could.

 _Well,_ he thought, shooting Rosa a grateful look. _That answers that question._ For whatever reason, Rosa had not revealed the truth about him to her brother—much as her own clan had restricted the truth from other clans and their own people. _What are you hiding still?_ He wondered, and made a mental note to question her as to why she had decided to hide this from Tal. Was she waiting for him to give permission to share it? Or was there something more…?

Rosa wore her Keeper armor as she usually did in the Fade, with one hand on her hip and the other tapping out an idle rhythm on her thigh. It took Solas a shameful heartbeat to realize what rhythm she was going for—the underlying hum of the world as it should be. The Fade had constructed this dream from his pre-Veil memories, recreating with it the song that accompanied Elvhenan's reality where the Fade and the physical plane had been one.

Rosa raised her eyes to the sky and grinned. "So. Do you think this is truly what Elvhenan looked like?"

Solas glanced up briefly before looking back to her and nodding, still smiling. "Yes, although it could just be an idle fantasy remembered in the Fade as well. There is no way to be certain. It is beautiful, however. Don't you think?"

"That's like asking if the Divine prays to the Maker," Tal said, laughing as he spun in a slow circle, staring up through squinted eyes at the sunshine and the brilliant colors in the sky.

She snorted, grinning. "Tal stole the words right out of my mouth, Revas. It makes me think of the dancing lights I used to see back home, in the Brecilian—but only in the dead of winter _."_ Falling silent a moment, she made a face and Solas felt his chest constrict with sympathy, knowing the topic must remind her of all she'd lost.

"You and your wild stories, _asamalin,"_ Tal teased.

"It is not a wild story," Solas retorted, frowning at the youth. "I have seen the phenomenon she refers to. It is called an aurora and only occurs in the far north and far south."

Rosa smiled at him. "Thank you, Revas."

Tal rolled his eyes and charged up the side of the hill to stand beside Solas. "Let's get down to business then. Where's the demon you have to kill, _falon?_ "

Solas pointed into the distance, near the horizon where a reddish butte extended up from the sea of tawny hills. "In that direction. This one is nothing remarkable."

Striding up to join them, standing to Solas' right, Rosa sighed. "Figures that I'd be the only one to face off with the blighting Formless One."

Sandwiched between brother and sister, Solas saw the way Tal fidgeted at the mention of the powerful demon, tugging at the cuffs of his mage robes. Unlike Rosa, it seemed he'd embraced the clothing and culture of the tower. Solas wondered, if he had seen Tal's self-projection in a dream a week or two ago, would the youth have worn Keeper or scout armor—or _any_ armor at all? For all his devotion to his sister, Tal couldn't have been less like her. Did he worry now that Rosa's fears that the Formless One intended to pursue him in punishing her would prove true? Or was something else troubling the young elf?

"You know," Rosa murmured then, her tone suggesting she was nervous and hesitant.

Solas turned to regard her again, curious when she didn't continue. When he saw that she had begun fidgeting with her hands too, much like Tal—a truly notable sign of her anxiety with whatever she was about to say—he arched a brow. "Yes…?" he prompted.

Licking her lips, she watched him warily. "I know you said the Formless One is far too powerful for us, but are you absolutely _sure?_ What I mean is I know another powerful mage—my mentor, a Dreamer. I could—"

Solas interrupted her with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Three Dreamers could not defeat the Formless One. _Ir abelas."_ Inwardly he noted her mention of a mentor with interest, filing it away for later. _Another_ Dreamer? In this Tranquil world? Perhaps that was who he sensed with the Formless One on the night of Tal's Harrowing?

"But you could use me too," Tal suggested brightly from Solas' other side. "Would that be enough?"

"Not without a powerful weapon or a trick of some kind." _The Anchor, more precisely,_ he thought, but would never have said it even if Tal weren't present. "I'm sorry, but it is simply not possible."

Seeing Rosa's crestfallen expression, he sighed, shoulders sinking. "I know you do not accept defeat easily. It goes against your very nature, but I see no way out of the bargain the Formless One struck with you. It would not have made such an agreement unless it would receive something it wanted _regardless_ of how you acted."

She stared at him, eyes unfocused and clouded with anger intermixed with grief. "Translation: that son of a bitch wins no matter what I do."

"Yes," Solas said, _"Ir abelas,_ lethallan." Reaching out, he laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Be thankful the demon did not wish you or Tal or myself dead."

"Yeah," Tal piped up, stepping around Solas slightly to look at his sister more directly. "Whatever that bastard does to punish you, we'll make it through. I promise, _asamalin._ "

Rosa's lips twitched up in a small, warm smile. Her violet eyes flicked between Solas and Tal, soft with genuine affection that Solas could almost feel flowing through the Fade—the way such things once had in Elvhenan.

Feeling that dangerous something stirring within him at the affection in her eyes, Solas quickly let his hand fall from her shoulder and turned to survey the horizon. "Might I suggest we continue with our purpose here? I do not fancy the thought of the Templars growing impatient and killing me while I sleep."

Anticipating his thought process, Rosa said, "Well then, shall we make a shortcut? Save a little time?"

"I thought you would never ask, lethallan." Solas grinned at her and made a motion to invite her to take action by leading the way.

Clapping her hands together, Rosa sauntered ahead, trotting down the hill and sliding a bit. Dirt and pebbles hissed as they tumbled down, but Rosa stopped herself with a flourish of her arms. This was the Fade, after all. One need not follow any natural laws. Crouched in that unnatural, precarious position on the hillside, Rosa reached outward to the horizon with both arms and grunted as her hands closed into fists. Solas felt his skin tingle as her will made manifest altered the Fade, blurring it until the far distant horizon, where a rocky red-brown bluff stood out against the array of colors in the sky, swelled and surged toward them. The ground between blurred and then fell away entirely.

Tal scoffed playfully. "Showoff."

"Done," she proclaimed, ignoring Tal as she whipped about to look at Solas. "Now _you_ get to lead the rest of the way. This is _your_ Harrowing after all."

"I am aware," Solas replied curtly as he jogged down the hill and passed her, moving to ascend the bluff, both Dalish tailing him. The grass gave way to unstable earth made of dry clay as he reached the top. Solas buried the odd desire to reach out to the bluff at the base of the butte and crumble the reddish clay between his fingers. Such fine pigments had been highly sought after in his village and probably still were in modern Thedas.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, Rosa grunted from behind him with interest and Solas heard the clay crumbling as she touched it. "My Keeper would have _killed_ for this stuff. We always had to find bloodstone and grind it up instead. Real pain in the ass."

 _Indeed,_ Solas thought, although his village had used magic to automate the grinding portion of extracting red pigment from bloodstone. Rosa's clan would have had to sprain their wrists grinding it themselves.

"Where _is_ this place, by the way?" Tal asked, taking up the rear. "It looks like the northern Dales, but drier and with a lot more red."

"I am unsure," Solas lied, hoping Tal wouldn't probe. He hurried ahead, his legs rustling through the grass, following his inner senses. "The demon is below us," he said, frowning with concentration. "And inside the butte."

Rosa made a noise of interest behind him, her pace slowing as she too frowned with thought. "Can you tell what it is…? Feels like a…"

"A pride demon," Solas finished, recognizing the aura. _Great._

Solas led the way down again, curling around the butte and down a sandy slope. At the bottom of the hill a few gray blocks of rough-hewn stone lay over the red-brown dirt. Solas recognized them as being of dwarven construction, fallen columns. Set into the side of the hill was a latticework of reddish stained glass tiles, each giving off a faint glow to provide lighting to the entrance.

"An entrance to the Deep Roads?" Rosa asked from just behind him.

"Possibly," Solas hedged. In truth he didn't know. He had spent a great deal of time in the areas that were known as the Western Approach to modern Thedas, because he held stewardship over them for a time while Falon'Din was imprisoned after the Evanuris' civil war. Yet, he wasn't familiar with an entrance like this, likely meaning the demon had constructed it—or, alternatively, that Solas' own memories were fading somewhat. He hoped it was the former and not the latter.

Striding in through the narrow entrance and past the reddish glow, Solas found himself in deep darkness. The air smelled dank and sickly sweet, rotten. Extending his arms out to either side of him, Solas willed braziers to appear there, lit with bright white flames. As the light filled the chamber, Solas saw he stood in a foyer of sorts. The room was rectangular and with a fairly low ceiling supported by thick, ugly columns made of dark stone. Rocks and dirt and other detritus littered the floor in heaps where water or wind had presumably pushed it. And at the far end of the chamber a tall, narrow mirror stood, flanked on either side by stone dragons, the symbol for Mythal.

The sound of grit under the others' feet alerted Solas to their presence as Tal and Rosa filed in. Rosa's expression warped with disgust as she undoubtedly reacted to the smell, but Tal seemed less affected as he walked to the first column and brushed his hands over the runes. "What is this place?" he asked, his voice echoing from the walls.

"I do not know," Solas answered truthfully. He could feel the presence of the demon in this room, its aura cold and pricking against his skin. "I suspect the demon intends to face us here."

"Dwarven and elven," Rosa said, noticing the mirror. "Odd."

 _Not as odd as you would think,_ Solas thought but nodded in feigned agreement. Reaching inside himself to feel over his mana core, Solas approached the mirror. He heard Rosa and Tal shadowing him at a distance, close enough that they could react but far enough away to let him tackle the challenge alone primarily.

The mirror—an eluvian—was dark. Inactive, but intact. Solas circled around the last column in the room until he stood in full view of the mirror. The glossy surface showed a shadowy figure that might have been himself reflected back, but Solas doubted it. This would be the demon.

With a grunt, Solas summoned fire into his right hand. The mirror went dark entirely, showing no reflection at all as he flung the fireball at it. As the fireball struck the mirror Solas cursed under his breath as he realized too late the trick the demon had employed. The fireball ricocheted back to him, the fire crackling and roaring. Solas erected a barrier and dodged, letting the fireball crash into the column behind him.

A cold, cackling laughter echoed through the room. "Is that truly all you have to use against me, Pride?"

The demon was using a specific barrier to reflect his magic back on him. It would be easy enough to dispel or mindblast it away. Spirit magic would thwart the spell. Solas refreshed his barrier and summoned the magic to dispel the demon's barrier, but stopped as he registered the shape in the mirror now: Felassan.

"What a delightful diversion the enchanters have sent me this time," Felassan said in his smooth, friendly voice, though his face had twisted with hate. "I can read all of you like open pages laid bare to me. Your fears, your hopes, and your weaknesses—all of it. And do you know what I see?" His dark eyes swept over Solas and toward the Dalish siblings, taking them in with a leering smile. "None of you are strong enough to do what must be done."

"Demon filth," Rosa snarled, edging closer to the mirror and drawing mana of her own. "Let's send this bastard back to the Void, Revas!"

"Yeah," Tal agreed, but there was an odd waver to his voice as he stepped to his sister's side in solidarity. Something like pain flashed over his features.

"Bastard am I?" not-Felassan mocked them, grinning. His teeth were sharper than Solas remembered. With his hood back Solas could see his old friend's pale hair, cropped short and tied back. His vallaslin curled around his eyes as he laughed. "I do believe that description fits the two of you far better than myself, doesn't it? Cast your spell and I will tell your friend why. You don't want that now, do you? Rosa? Tal? "

This threat silenced both brother and sister, though they glared daggers at the demon as it laughed. Solas had paused to listen, intrigued despite himself, but he knew he must act or else the demon would turn its eye on him next.

Drawing in a deep breath, Solas cast the dispelling, aiming the spirit energy at the eluvian where mock-Felassan paced in and out of view like a caged animal. With a low hum the spirit energy blasted the demon's barrier and Solas felt it splinter and fail, giving way. With a hard grin, Solas flung another fireball at the mirror and this time it hit. Orange light flickered and the room filled with crackling and a sharp stink as fire engulfed the mirror. The demon let out a deep hiss and the mirror that held it dissolved into Fade ether. In its place the hooded figure of Felassan rematerialized and darted for the Dalish siblings.

Rosa Fade-stepped to avoid the demon, a streak of blue as she shot across the chamber and appeared at Solas' side with a slick whine-pop noise. Tal, however, was not so lucky. The demon snatched him by the neck as he tried to backpedal away. It slammed him against the wall and Tal flailed, his fingers burning as he called fire.

"Tal!" Rosa screamed and unleashed a volley of chain lightning on the demon as Solas clenched his fist and jerked it downward to cast winter's grasp.

The demon let out another hissing shriek and spun about on its heel, tossing Tal directly at Solas and Rosa. "Take back this cretin since you want him so badly!"

Solas Fade-stepped around a column to avoid impact with Tal but Rosa stayed her ground and thrust both hands out, using raw spirit energy to cradle her brother as he collided with her. The siblings tumbled together, arms and legs akimbo, yelping with surprise and pain.

The false Felassan grinned at Solas, his rough-hewn cloak scorched where Tal had touched him and where Rosa's lightning had worked over him. Frost still rimmed his shoulders and the edges of his face. "And what of you, great one? Look how far you have fallen. I wonder—would you allow me inside you? We are so alike, you and I. I can help you. You are too weak to escape the tower. Too weak to face the awful truths of this world. Time will destroy you before you achieve your goals, but I could extend your life and grant you the power you need."

" _Silence,"_ Solas snarled at it in elven, heart pounding at how close the demon was to revealing too much within earshot of the siblings. He Fade-stepped through the demon, freezing it as he passed. The sharp crack of the frost spreading over it filled his ears, louder than Rosa and Tal's scuffling feet as they righted themselves.

Reaching deep inside himself for as much mana as he could spare, Solas unleashed a mindblast. The loud boom of it echoed from the walls and impacted the demon hard. It stumbled backward, its shape warping and failing. By the time the spirit energy had finished working on it, the demon had adopted a new shape—Zevanni. It spoke with her voice too, a harsh, teasing lilt in it. "Strike me again and I will tell them. I will tell them what you are."

Solas hesitated; fear clutching at his throat, but at that moment both Tal and Rosa struck the demon for him, shouting in war cries. Rosa flung a chunk of Fade rock that smashed into the pride demon, knocking it over against the wall. Tal unleashed an immolate spell and the demon erupted in flames. Letting out the breath he'd been holding in tension, Solas hurled icicles at the demon like hidden blades, piercing it all the way through.

With a final shriek the demon vanished. Solas had a moment to breathe deeply, smelling the acrid stink of burning intermixed with dust and hearing Rosa and Tal whoop with triumph. He turned to congratulate them only to feel the Fade lurch around him, blurring. Stumbling to his knees, he fought to cling to the dream, certain this was mana burnout. He had nearly grazed the end of his reserves in this fight, particularly with the enormous mindblast.

"Are you all right?" Rosa called to him and he heard her footsteps crunching the grit as she hurried to his side.

Tal moved with her, kneeling and reaching for Solas's arm as if to haul him up, but actually his hands gripped him in a restraining hold. "This is the part where you wake up, _falon,"_ he said, teasingly. "Think you can manage that?"

Solas blinked, frowning as the realization hit him. "Ah," he grunted. "I see." He nodded to Tal and then to Rosa, smiling his gratitude. "Thank you for your aid. With luck, I shall see you both at lunch today."

Rosa frowned. "Probably not me," she growled. "I'm still locked up."

"And you two have to stop sneaking off," Tal admonished. "Sharing breakfast and Mythal knows what with each other! The shame, _asamalin."_

Rather than deal with such teasing, as he could already feel his ear tips burning at Tal's less than subtle insinuation, Solas closed his eyes and let his head hang. The Fade blurred and began to close around him, failing into darkness.

* * *

After congratulating Solas for passing the ritual, the First Enchanter bestowed him with new robes and assigned him to another mage who was to be his roommate, a human man by the name of Francis. Bleary-eyed and crotchety at the early hour at which he'd been called upon, Francis proved a poor conversationalist and had little patience for Solas, though he did show him around.

The mages lived in three levels of the tower, higher than the apprentices, and segregated by sex with women in the west half and men in the east of each level. Like the apprentices, the mages lived communally, though they bunked only two to four in a room and the beds appeared much nicer. Classroom space was shared with the apprentices as the mages often did the grunt work of teaching the youngsters. However, there were a few classrooms on the mages' level of the tower where Francis explained enchanters and senior enchanters taught advanced courses. The mages also had multiple privies on each level, four to be exact, and located in the cardinal directions. Each privy came complete with nice porcelain tubs in fine tiling inlaid with the Chantry's sunburst.

Solas didn't see any sign of Rosa or Tal as he moved through the halls with his roommate turned escort, though he watched for them. Rosa might very well still be in a cell. The thought made his shoulders tense with worry for her, hoping she would not be mistreated.

Francis brought him to the eastern privy, most commonly used by the male mages, and left him to bathe. After bathing just a few nights ago the unexpected bath now was a delightful boon, and he was allowed to linger in the warm water much longer now. His head still ached faintly in a few spots from the blow he'd received from Ser Tess and sinking under the water to soak up the warmth was as soothing as any healing spell. He considered trying to relieve certain _other_ afflictions but dismissed it, determined that he would control himself and his inclination toward such distractions. Finding release at his own hand would only encourage him to seek further pleasure. Austerity and self-discipline were the wiser choices.

After donning his new mage robes, which were now blue and white with no green in sight, and with broader shoulder pads, Solas returned to his new quarters to nap and make himself at home. The bed was plusher than the cot he'd had as an apprentice, with blankets that were soft and looked reassuringly warm. There were two other beds; one belonging to Francis and the last to some unknown roommate Solas hadn't met yet. The other two had bedspreads different from his own—the bed adjacent to his had a patchwork of squares made of what appeared to be old mage robes while the one across from his had a white blanket with the red symbol for the Circle of Magi on it.

His particular bedspread was red with the Chantry sunburst in gold woven into it. It made him shudder, reminding him of the lyrium brand placed on Tranquil's foreheads. With no possessions to speak of, Solas had no way to customize his small space except by stripping the Chantry sunburst blanket and flipping it over to reveal the reverse side, which was an attractive creamy tan color. _Much better,_ he thought and then lay down, closing his eyes and letting the Fade take him.

Opening his eyes again, Solas found himself staring at an enormous gray-brown boulder pockmarked by lichen in varying shades of white, orange, and green. Sensing the weight of another Dreamer nearby, Solas turned round and saw Rosa standing a few meters away from him beside a large pond. More of the enormous boulders lay scattered around them, enclosing the grassy glen from the wind and lending a sense of privacy, perhaps even intimacy.

Striding closer to the pond over the soft, spongy grass, Solas saw the water was clear though purple and yellow lily pads dotted the surface. Colorful fish swam lazily through the water, resplendent in white, gold, and purple. The pond extended around the boulders to Solas' right and out of sight. Water trickled down from the boulders in a gentle, musical song, feeding the pool.

Across the pond Rosa had yet to acknowledge him or glance in his direction for more than an instant. She stood with her back to the boulder behind her, leaning against it with her hands clasped on her stomach and her eyes fixed on the pond. Her expression held a gloom that didn't mesh well with the energy of this serene place.

"Are you well, lethallan?" Solas asked gently. "Have they not released you yet?"

Rosa shook her head. "Not yet."

When she fell silent again, still looking troubled, Solas asked, "Have you been well treated at least?"

She shrugged, her attitude flippant and dismissive. "I've gone a lot longer than I'd like without food or water, but at least they're letting me sleep this time. That's really all I've done."

Had she drawn him here or had he done it? The pond and the boulders weren't a place he recognized, which suggested this was her creation and he was the visitor, but one could never be certain with the Fade. "Did you wish to speak with me?" he asked.

"Why not?" she asked, shrugging again. "I felt you entering the Fade and willed you here. Did you have other plans?"

"No," he answered quickly. It was unlikely that Zevanni or Felassan were sleeping now so he would be unable to check in with them. The same was true for the enchanters and the Templars within the tower. He could have sought out his friend Wisdom or communed with local spirits—hostile or friendly alike—but in truth he knew he'd napped with the express hope that he would find Rosa.

She let out a long, heavy breath, and pushed away from the boulder. Her Keeper armor glinted, despite the diffuse light of this misty, secluded glen. As she circled the pond at a slow pace, moving closer to him, Rosa said, "The Formless One is going to win and there's nothing I can do about it."

Solas dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "Unfortunately I suspect that is true, yes."

"And it said it would whisper something to the Templars that would cause me to suffer—but won't kill me." She frowned, arms crossed over her chest and eyes locked on the pond. "It wants Tal and I alive." She broke off, chuckling bitterly. "The only way I can think of to spite it would be to kill ourselves…or escape this tower. Immediately. No tower, no Templars, no sting to the secret it reveals."

Solas scowled as he took up a spot at her side, also staring at the pond. "Attempting escape would simply end in your deaths. It _would_ spite the demon, but it is not a viable option. We will simply have to curtail the damage the Formless One creates."

Rosa scrubbed at her face with one hand. "See…I think I know what it will tell the Templars." Solas arched his brow, waiting expectantly and Rosa went on. "It'll convince the Knight-Commander or the Knight-Captain or the Seeker or someone that Tal and I are siblings. Some of the things it said made me sure it wanted to separate Tal and I."

"And that would be an excellent way to achieve that goal," Solas murmured and nodded in agreement.

"I'm not sure we can combat that," Rosa said and her voice cracked. Solas shot her a sidelong look and saw that she covered her mouth with one hand while her brow furrowed and her eyes clouded. After a few moments she inhaled shakily and said, "If they took him away we'd both survive just fine, but…"

"You knew one another from a distance before," Solas said, speaking aloud something he'd guessed based on the siblings' various stories, hints, and general familiarity with one another. "You met at the last Arlathvhen, did you not?"

She nodded, her hand dropping away and her lips curling in a bittersweet smile. "He was being taunted—tormented, really. The other children—Firsts and Seconds and others who'd come with their Keepers—ganged up on him. They hogtied him and pelted him with halla dung. He could have burned through the ropes, but he just took the punishment because he knew they'd beat him if he fought. When I arrived and saw it…"

She laughed, hard and triumphant. "I charged in and flattened them with a Veilstrike. The leader was years older than me and resisted it, but I shot a Fade stone at him. Knocked him out cold. They were all so stunned and witless; they thought I was a demon and ran off. And Tal stared at me, his mouth hanging open, but he wasn't afraid."

"That could not have been the first time you met him," Solas said softly, smiling at her story.

Frowning, Rosa glanced at him with something akin to disapproval. "Why not?"

"How would you have known him to be your brother?" Solas asked.

She stared at him, silent as her eyes flicked over his face. Her lips parted a moment and then closed again as she flashed a tight smile. "I just felt it. In here," she said and laid a hand over her heart. "And when we spoke I learned we had the same father."

 _How curious._ Making a noise of interest in his throat, Solas said, "You have not spoken of your father."

Now Rosa's nose wrinkled with irritation. "That's because I never knew him, not really." Sniffing, she narrowed her eyes at him. "What about you, _Solas?_ I've never heard you mention _your_ father."

Clenching his jaw at the angst in her tone, Solas kept his voice calm and even. "My father and my mother are both long dead, casualties of war. There is nothing else to say of them."

"Nothing you wish to say or nothing worth remembering?" Rosa pressed.

"Nothing I wish to say as it is not pertinent," Solas elaborated with a frown.

"Well," Rosa mumbled, picking at her fingernails. "There's nothing I wish to say about my father for that same reason." Dusting herself off absently, Rosa pivoted to face him rather than the pond as she went on. "Something I've always wondered…"

Solas turned his head and met her eye. "Yes?" His heart had suddenly started pounding inside his chest, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was Rosa's emotion carried through the Fade, influencing him. Yet her expression was fairly open, with only the slight upward tic of her lips to indicate anything else might be lurking beneath the surface.

"What happened at the end of Elvhenan?" she asked, brow furrowing. "Did you witness it?"

Solas' blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins, but he remained impassive as he answered. "If you are referring to the fall of Arlathan specifically, then no, I was already deep in the dreaming." Hoping to learn more of what she knew and what details she might be seeking, Solas forced himself to stay calm as he asked, "What did Ivun tell your clan?"

She frowned. "He told us the Elvhen warred upon themselves and the humans descended like vultures to strip our people's knowledge and wealth once we were too weak to fight them." Gazing back at the pond, her features softened. "He would not tell us more than that." She pinched her lips together then, appearing troubled. "But I'm sure he knew more and just wouldn't say. The Keeper who recorded his tales thought that, anyway."

The chill of Solas' dread eased and a small, sad smile curled over his lips. "From what I saw scattered in dreams, Ivun was correct. The People destroyed themselves."

"The Dalish blame the Dread Wolf," Rosa said and Solas stood stiff and motionless, barely daring to breathe though Rosa wasn't looking at him and seemed to speak idly. "But Ivun said that wasn't true." She chuckled. "In fact, he told us—"

"Why did you not tell your brother about me?" Solas interrupted, frantic to change the subject.

Rosa blinked at him a moment and then smirked. "Did you want me to?"

Solas shifted from one foot to the other, fidgeting. "I…am unsure."

Rosa edged closer to him, smiling warmly. "Well," she said, her voice dropping into a lower register, almost sultry. "Your secrets are safe with me, Solas. If you want to tell Tal, then do so. If you want me to tell him, let me know and I will. Until then…"

The cold fear of possible discovery had evaporated suddenly and completely, leaving him flushed with warm affection, fluttering inside his chest in time with his heart. His eyes followed her and his stomach flip-flopped with both trepidation and excitement as she laid a hand on his shoulder, close to his neck. Her eyes were dark and smoldering, locked with his but for the occasional flick down to his lips as she finished what she'd been saying, "Your secrets are your own and I'll never betray them. Never betray _you."_

 _Stop,_ a small, frantic voice shouted in the back of his head. _Run!_ There were things she hadn't revealed to him, he was certain of it. But, similarly, he had things he would never tell her. _Couldn't_ ever tell her. Even though, staring into her violet eyes and feeling her warm fingers brushing over his shoulder toward his neck, he _wanted_ to. She was so clever, fearless, courageous, and determined…surely she could handle the truth. Surely she would understand what he'd done, and what he still must do. She _deserved_ to know. And once she knew and accepted him anyway there'd be no reason he needed to hold back, to fight this unstoppable, maddening desire.

But if she didn't understand what he planned to do, if she didn't accept him...

He'd have to kill her.

He reached the same conclusion again: _She can never know._ _There can never be anything between us._

"Thank you," he murmured, barely voicing the two words as his mind spun and his chest constricted with the weight of hopelessness. He had to ward her away, reject her before her bold nature drove her to make a physical move that he might not have the self-discipline to rebuff.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, apparently sensing or reading his distress. She cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowing with concern.

"No," he stammered, desperately racking his brain for the right thing to say to put an end to this flirtation. "I was…" She was so beautiful, so alive. How could he _possibly_ turn her away when he wanted her so badly that he could feel his heart throbbing against his throat? "I…hope that you know I will never betray your secrets as well."

She had drawn closer still as he spoke, resting her other hand at his opposite shoulder now too. He could feel her breastplate brushing against his chest, her knee jutting out to meet his robes as she leaned in. Her violet eyes danced as she watched him expectantly. "And…?" she asked, smirking. "You're easy to read like this, _Solas._ What are you thinking?"

 _Tell her you have no interest in romantic entanglements,_ the frantic, angry voice inside him raged. _Tell her there is no future with you, that she deserves better. That she can return to her clan, to her…_

And then the answer leapt to him and he was speaking it, awkward and stilted, soft but strained. "You said you were betrothed. Before you left your clan. Once we escape this tower, you can return to them. To him."

Rosa frowned a moment, her lips puckering as if she'd tasted something sour. "Is that what's had you so skittish?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. "You think I'll abandon you once we leave here?"

"It would be kinder in the long run," he blurted, grimacing as he tried to extricate himself from her hold, to withdraw several steps backward.

Rosa let go of him, her hands flopping to her sides before she crossed her arms over her chest. "What is _that_ supposed to mean, Solas?"

The sound of her voice saying his name made Solas close his eyes, restraining a shudder of pleasure. How _dearly_ he wanted to hear her say his name like that, to care about him for _him_ and not his magic or his stature as an Evanuris. His chest felt light, his limbs heavy and tight with tension as thoughts skittered wildly, madly through his mind.

"I…" He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "I do not see a future for us once we leave this Circle. You will join a clan, but I cannot. I am not Dalish and I would never be content to spend what little time remains to me tending halla and repairing aravels." He couldn't meet her eye and averted his gaze, frowning as he felt his face burning. " _Ir abelas…"_

Rosa's steps made the grass sigh as she closed the distance between them and, before Solas could retreat again, she laid her hand on his cheek and turned his head toward her. Solas stared down at her, his brow knit and his heart aching at the warmth of her skin against his cheek. For a fleeting instant he let his eyes land on her and then away again, but only for a heartbeat as he registered her expression—soft and warm with a gentle smile on her full lips. His gaze flew back to her and stayed, holding his breath with the tension.

"Solas," she said, her melodic voice caressing him, "If we care for each other, why deny it? One or both of us could die when we try to escape. The future is never something that's guaranteed. Only fools and cowards deny what's in here—" She laid her other hand over her heart as she spoke "—to try and protect themselves from being hurt."

Her eyes were bright, her smile shining and although Solas knew she was no longer possessed by Rogathe, it seemed he could almost see the spirit of bravery showing through. He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. "Are you certain Rogathe no longer possesses you?"

She grinned, the hand she had on his cheek falling to caress his jawline idly. "I'm sure it's gone, but I spent my whole childhood learning from it, you know. And it taught me early that choosing to be vulnerable takes enormous bravery."

Sobering then, she withdrew her hand and took a step back. "So," she began with a quick breath. "Tell it to me straight, Solas. Is there something here? Void take whatever happens in the escape and whatever plans we have for after. Now is all we have to worry about." Sucking in a breath, she repeated, "Is there something here, Solas?"

Lying was impossible. Staring at her, Solas heard the thud of his heart pounding in his ears, felt that dangerous and forbidden emotion fluttering inside. "Yes," he answered her, his voice already husky. _Fenedhis._ "Yes."

She grinned at hearing his answer and Solas returned it with one of his own as he reached for her, giving in to the greedy hunger building within. She moved into his embrace and met him partway, her lips pressing to his and her breath already fast. The taste and warmth of her mouth made him frantic, turning her with a firm hand at her waist to guide her into the boulders. Her armor clanked and scraped against the boulder and soft grass sighed at their feet as she collided with the rock, sandwiched between Solas and the stone.

He pressed close to her, his hands cupping her cheeks and jaw, fingers grazing her ears. When she shivered and moaned at his touch Solas took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth to meet with hers. Rosa responded with ardor, sucking and teasing with her teeth. Arching her back, she ground her hips against his and her hands wandered over his chest and around his waist.

With his mind filled with Rosa's taste, her scent, and the sound of her breath and her moans, Solas almost missed the first jolt that passed through him as a shudder of excitement. But long ages of experience set off alarm bells within his mind and he broke their increasingly sloppy kiss, panting as he struggled to speak. "I am waking," he told her, but drinking in her swollen lips and hungry eyes he pulled her close for another kiss.

Rosa moaned with appreciation, nibbling at his lip. "Do you have to go?"

Solas heard a voice echo through his skull: _"Revas! Wake up!"_ The voice was familiar and male—and loud enough to make him cringe and pull back from Rosa. "Yes."

She grabbed his chin and turned his head sideways, speaking into his ear. "I'll see you tonight." He felt her hot breath and then her tongue and her teeth on his ear tip and moaned as a pleasurable shiver rippled through him.

Turning his head to kiss her again, desperate for one more taste to take with him out of the Fade, he suddenly felt himself be shaken and jerked awake with a gasp. Blinking and bleary-eyed, he lifted his head from his pillow and scowled up to the figure who'd woken him. Gradually the other man came into shape: Tal.

Groaning, Solas eased himself onto his elbows, slow and cautious as he assessed his body and again found—annoyingly—he had a rampaging erection. He'd turned onto his stomach while asleep, a position he apparently favored while engaging in sensual dreams, and that hid his shame though it did nothing to prevent the hot blush that stole over his cheeks.

"You were really out," Tal observed with a chuckle. "Must've been a good dream." His brown eyes twinkled mischievously, as if he already knew what had transpired or had seen it with his own eyes. Then the youth grinned. "And you're blushing!"

Solas sighed, focusing internally on imagining runes and complex spells and… _anything_ but Rosa. "Why did you wake me?" he asked and grimaced at how much like _whining_ it sounded like to his own ears.

"It's lunch time," Tal said with a shrug, still wearing his goofy grin. "One of your roommates, Adwen, is a friend of mine. He told me you were out cold in here and I volunteered to wake you."

 _How considerate of you,_ Solas thought and rubbed at his face as he finally felt safe enough to roll over and sit up. His stomach rumbled, however, as wakefulness fully took him. Drawing in a breath, Solas stood up and managed to smile at Tal. "Very well. Let's go."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"I was only about twelve years old then," Rosa went on. "And everything at the Arlathvhen filled me with awe. So many wise elders of the People, so many secrets and stories! On the second day of the gathering, I met a woman, stooped with age and with hair as white as a blizzard, who told me she had the gift of prophecy. She called me close and told me if I helped her prepare her evening meal she would read my future."

Rosa smiled and shrugged flippantly. "I figured, why not? It wasn't as if I had much else to do by then because my Keeper was deep in meeting with the others. So I helped the old woman and afterward she took her knife and cut off a bit of my hair and held it to her lips, like this…"

She lifted her spoon and laid it against her puckered lips, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose as if with deep concentration. "Then she spoke in a deep, gravelly voice," Rosa dropped the pitch of her own voice in imitation and Solas felt his skin dimple with gooseflesh despite himself at the words. _"'You will leave the People to save them and travel far and wide across all Thedas. You will stand tall against a monster that seeks to destroy our world and you will give your heart to one you can never keep.'_ It gave me the creeps, but I never forgot it, and so far she's not been wrong entirely."


	22. You Will Stand Tall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I looked up and saw  
> The seven gates of the Black City shatter,  
> And darkness cloaked both realms.
> 
> The Chant of Light—Portents of the Maker's return
> 
> Solas, Rosa, Tal, and Varric play another round of Big Liar. Solas and Rosa continue their dangerous flirtation. When they're almost caught by a Templar, Rosa unknowingly lets slip a great secret.

Rosa was absent for Solas' first lunch as a fully-fledged mage, but Varric and Tal were present and proved as delightful a distraction as usual. The dining hall brimmed with mages, crammed to full capacity with the entirety of them. Tal and Rosa had begun sitting at a different spot than their usual place while eating with the apprentices. Now, instead of near the center, they'd taken the very last chairs at the table furthest from the food lines and closest to a drafty window.

The mages ranged in age from latest teens to elderly, because the Circle did not require them to advance to enchanters or senior enchanters as they aged. Even so, most did progress to take the title of enchanter, joining a fraternity and specializing their talents. Enchanters were more likely to be called upon as experts by those outside the Circle, and they held far more respect than an ordinary mage. That was enough to encourage mages to progress, and as a result Solas saw most mages appeared to be his _assumed_ age or younger.

The mages were also, oddly, more boisterous and louder than the apprentices. Even the minor increase in rank apparently emboldened them against the Templars. All of them knew that, according to Chantry law, the Rite of Tranquility could not be imposed on a mage who'd passed his or her Harrowing. Of course, in practice that wasn't the case, but that spot of Divine-endorsed protection was encouraging and made the mages more likely to bend rules or outright break some of them. Solas saw couples at other tables who were clearly _fraternizing._ Hand holding here, a quick kiss to the lips there, while the Templars stationed about the dining room seemed bored and uninterested.

By dinnertime Solas realized that mages had the freedom to arrange their own schedules and studies, although the Templars maintained a strict lights out time at night. The doorway leading to the women's section of the tower was locked at lights out as well and Templars regularly patrolled the halls, hoping to discourage nighttime wandering. Doors between the enchanter levels of the tower above them and to the apprentices below were also locked at night. But otherwise the mages were not confined to their quarters and Tal whispered that the locks he'd seen could be easily picked with a bit of finesse.

"I can teach you how to pick the locks," Tal whispered to him quietly as they entered the dining hall for dinner. The smell of meat and fresh bread already tickled Solas' nose, setting his stomach squirming with eagerness.

"I would appreciate that," Solas said, smiling. They worked their way through the lineup of food, offered and prepared as usual by Tranquil primarily. The meal tonight was turkey in gravy over a thick slice of white bread and with a side of mashed potatoes and spindleweed in butter with cookies for dessert. As far as Solas could tell, the mages didn't receive any upgrades in food from the apprentices, but the meals had always been of fine quality—as they should be, considering that Tranquil had been the ones to prepare it.

As Solas and Tal walked to take their spot at the final table beside the drafty window in the very back of the hall, Solas saw Rosa sitting beside Varric and tried to keep the immediate broad smile from erupting over his lips. She was eating feverishly, shoveling forkfuls of gravy-smothered turkey into her mouth. Her skin appeared a bit pallid and Solas saw the remnants of a bruise along her temple where Ser Tess must have hit her a few days previously.

She watched him as he sat down, still eating as if she'd been starving—which she probably had. Solas offered her a smile he hoped was warm but reserved, in the hope that he wouldn't reveal to the others that anything major had changed between them. The first mouthful of turkey and gravy was salty and delicious, flushing him with satisfaction and awakening his hunger.

"I'm sure you both noticed already but Violet's back!" Varric said by way of greeting them, motioning toward Rosa with one meaty hand. "Good to have you back!" Unscrewing the cap on his flask, he made a toasting gesture. "The whole crew's here again." He took a quick sip and let out a long exhalation afterward as he smacked his lips. "I say we celebrate with another round of that Big Liar game before everyone eats all the food from their trays. I want a rematch."

"I'm in," Tal agreed around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Swallowing, Solas shot Rosa a quick look across the table and saw her smirking knowingly back at him. "You said you wanted a rematch, flat-ear?" she asked him, teasingly.

"I did," Solas admitted, returning her smirk with one of his own.

"Then prepare to lose," she said and clapped her hands, rubbing them together as if there was hard work to be done. "Varric," she said and gave his beefy elbow a playful shove. "You want to go first again?"

"You got it," the dwarf said, laughing as he tucked away his flask. "Can't let Stoic over there get my whiskey."

"Damn," Tal complained with a mock-frown. "You couldn't forget just this one time, Varric? Hmmm?"

"'Fraid not, kid," Varric said with a grin. "All right, first story. There's a dwarf who lives in Kirkwall, by the name of Sandal. He's…kind of a savant. He's obsessed with enchanting and I understand he's damn good at it. Anyway, he's not too bright as far as anything else goes, but even the Circle wanted to study him for his enchantments." Varric chuckled, shrugging. "Well, when Hawke and I were in the Deep Roads on an expedition and everything had gone sideways in a bad way—darkspawn round every corner, deepstalkers lurking and looking hungry, and my son of a bitch brother, sorry Mom, leaving us for dead—we ran into Sandal down there."

"That's…weird," Tal said, frowning.

Varric chuckled. "You don't know the half of it. Remember, Sandal wasn't too bright when it came to pretty much anything other than enchanting stuff. I wouldn't have thought he could hurt a fly, let alone defend himself in the Deep Roads, but Hawke and I found him surrounded by darkspawn corpses. We asked him how he'd killed them and he just said _'Boom!'"_ Varric emphasized the tale by spreading both hands outward as he spoke.

The mages laughed at his mannerism, though Tal immediately followed it with skepticism. "No way that one's true."

"Care to put your money where your mouth is, Stoic?" Varric asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"If I _had_ any money, sure," Tal said, huffing.

"On with the next one," Rosa prompted, leaning her elbows onto the table to listen more closely. Solas mirrored her body language, more interested in watching her than in hearing Varric's story.

"Second story," Varric said and grinned, his brown eyes crinkling. "You remember I said I have a repeating, one-of-a-kind crossbow I named Bianca?"

"Yes," Rosa said. "And you were lying about it, you imp."

"Indeed," Solas put in. "I remember the same. That tale was the lie."

"No way you're fooling us with that one again," Tal said, a look of confidence over his features.

"We'll see about that," Varric said, still grinning. "I really do have that crossbow, and I did name her Bianca. I just didn't find her the way I said I did. The true story is that I found her in this weird, dingy little shop in Kirkwall. She was in a barrel labeled _swag._ I haggled with the vendor and eventually he sold her to me for a half-eaten sandwich and a signed copy of _The Tale of the Champion."_

Rosa groaned. "Really? We have to pick between those two stories?"

"The first story is true," Tal announced, even though he looked pained to say it. "There's no way I'm falling for the blighting crossbow tale again."

Varric laughed. "C'mon now, Stoic. I could be telling the truth about Bianca this time." He scanned the other two elves. "Any other guesses?"

"The second story is the truth," Rosa said, blowing out a breath. "I just can't believe the other story."

Solas smirked at her. "I can. I am in agreement with Tal. The first tale is the true one." He shot Rosa a smug look, certain he was right, only to see her smiling coyly back at him.

"So," Tal prompted the dwarf. "Which is true?"

Varric laughed. "Son of a bitch," he said and jerked his thumb at Rosa. "I tricked Violet. I can die happy now."

"I let you win," Rosa protested, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat as Varric claimed his prize. The dwarf scooped up several spoonfuls of her mashed potatoes and piled them high on his plate, licking his lips with exaggerated glee.

"Loser goes next," Tal told her.

She made a show of rolling her eyes, her lips pinching together tightly to think. Solas deliberately scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes from his tray and to his mouth slowly, staring at her as he ate and willing her to notice. She did after a beat and shook her head at him in silent reprimand. "I'm going to get you, flat-ear. Just you wait. Your mashed potatoes will be _mine._ "

Swallowing his mouthful, Solas replied, "Not before I eat them, I do believe."

"Revas has the right idea," Tal said, casting a sour look at his sister. "Rosa cheats, so hurry and eat whatever matters to you most before she wins."

She snorted. "It's _winning_ that's truly satisfying, not the rewards." Clearing her throat then, she launched into her first story. "After I first left my clan, I headed west through Ferelden. Somewhere in the Hinterlands I saw a strange ram wandering in the woods beside a placid lake. Most of the rams out there are white and brown, with big black horns. This one was white, brown, and orange, like fire. Seeing it made me nervous, so I didn't try to hunt it and I made camp a safe distance away from the lake in some old Avvar ruins. That night while I slept something spoke to me in my dreams."

"Oh no," Tal said with a snort. "This is the lie. You and your talking animals, _asamalin."_

Rosa shushed him, though she grinned at him as she did so. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, a voice spoke to me that night and I glimpsed the same ram. He'd been possessed by a spirit of some kind. He had a deep, melodic voice and he was quite polite as he warned me there was a high dragon around the shores of Lake Calenhad and I should steer clear of it. I decided to take his advice and the next day made a wide berth around the area."

"Was there a high dragon, though?" Varric asked, cocking his head.

Rosa shrugged. "I don't know for sure. I _did_ look back in that direction from high ground a few times and I saw smoke, so something was happening there." A glimmer of amusement brightened her violet eyes and seeing it, Solas recalled one of her previous tales, regarding the two ravens. He'd meant to learn the truth of that story and noted again for later.

"That's the lie," Tal said, sounding confident as he stabbed a finger at Rosa. "If there _had_ been some kind of spirit-possessed ram that told you of a high dragon, you'd go charging off to fight it for fun."

Rosa scowled and shook her head. "I'm not an _idiot,_ Tal. Me one-on-one with a high dragon would be suicide."

Tal snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Never stopped you before."

Solas scooped bits of gravy-smothered turkey into his mouth to keep himself from laughing at the way Rosa frowned at her brother. Tal's comment likely hit a little too close to home. Solas suspected that Rosa wouldn't have been able to resist investigating a high dragon and possibly fighting it while Rogathe possessed her as it amplified her fearless nature to the point of stupidity.

"Okay," Rosa said after she'd taken a deep sip from her wine. "Second story. As First to my clan, I went with my Keeper to attend an Arlathvhen," she broke off, glancing to Varric as she swiftly explained the term. "That's a gathering of Keepers and other important members of each clan every decade so that we can exchange knowledge and preserve the wisdom of the People."

Varric nodded knowingly. "Daisy talked about that."

"I was only about twelve years old then," Rosa went on. "And everything at the Arlathvhen filled me with awe. So many wise elders of the People, so many secrets and stories! On the second day of the gathering, I met a woman, stooped with age and with hair as white as a blizzard, who told me she had the gift of prophecy. She called me close and told me if I helped her prepare her evening meal she would read my future."

Rosa smiled and shrugged flippantly. "I figured, why not? It wasn't as if I had much else to do by then because my Keeper was deep in meeting with the others. So I helped the old woman and afterward she took her knife and cut off a bit of my hair and held it to her lips, like this…"

She lifted her spoon and laid it against her puckered lips, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose as if with deep concentration. "Then she spoke in a deep, gravelly voice," Rosa dropped the pitch of her own voice in imitation and Solas felt his skin dimple with gooseflesh despite himself at the words. _"'You will leave the People to save them and travel far and wide across all Thedas. You will stand tall against a monster that seeks to destroy our world and you will give your heart to one you can never keep.'_ It gave me the creeps, but I never forgot it, and so far she's not been wrong entirely."

"How so?" Varric asked. "That seems like a tall order to fill!"

"Yeah," Tal grumbled. "How does being trapped in this tower constitute saving the People?"

Solas watched Rosa, his body cold and stiff, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. He wanted to believe Rosa was lying and to dismiss the tale even if she was not. Prophecy was less than reliable, to the point that Solas had no faith in it and considered it more superstitious than worthwhile. Yet… _you will stand against a monster that seeks to destroy our world._ How could that be anything other than himself? The Dalish certainly believed him to be a monster. And… _you will give your heart to one you can never keep._ He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the spurt of pain in his chest.

Rosa stabbed at the buttery spindleweed on her plate. "Well, I assume that by referencing _the People_ as a whole she meant my clan, really. I had to leave them to save them…from Templar wrath. And I _have_ traveled far and wide now across Thedas as a result." Puffing out a long breath in a show of exhaustion, she added, "The monster bit is nonsense, I think, but I _did_ love someone I couldn't keep back in my clan." A blush spread over her cheeks and she thumped the spindleweed speared on her fork against her tray.

Solas stared at her, unable to turn away, willing her to continue, to convince him and the others that this part of her prophecy had already come and gone. If it had, perhaps Solas could cling to some measure of hope that the monster bit didn't refer to himself and that he could still recruit her. Yet, even as he hoped for that reassurance, he knew that if he did get it he couldn't take that risk. The price of being wrong was too high…

"I was betrothed to someone before I left my clan," Rosa explained. "But I didn't love him. I loved a hunter I'd grown up with instead, but my Keeper forbid us joining." She shrugged, still unable to meet their stares. "It didn't matter in the end since I had to leave my clan and the hunter…" She sniffed slightly. "He died in a bandit attack."

" _Ir abelas,_ " Solas murmured gently. Her lover had died in _the_ bandit attack, he suspected. Perhaps Solas had even witnessed it in the recreation Rosa had shown him in the Fade. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

"Creators," Tal swore, shaking his head as his features twisted with sympathy. "I hope you're lying."

"Me too, Stoic," Varric said. "That's why I'm going to say the second story is the lie. Because, I mean, for your sake Violet I hope it is."

"I have to disagree with you, Varric," Tal said with a sigh. "Unfortunately. If the first story were true Rosa would have gotten herself killed fighting the dragon. So, the second story is the true one." He snatched his wineglass and quickly took a long sip of it. Setting it down again, he grinned sheepishly at the other three. "Just in case I'm wrong though."

"Revas?" Rosa asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

Solas chewed on his lip a moment, trying to keep the distress from revealing itself in his eyes or face and knowing he likely failed. Finally, shoulders slumping, he said, "I must agree with Tal. The first story is the lie."

Rosa stared at him a moment as something in her eyes clouded with loss. For a beat Solas wondered if he'd made a mistake and revealed something he shouldn't have by guessing the way he had. But then Rosa's coy smile took over and she said, "Varric wins."

"What?" Tal squawked and Solas felt his mouth fall open with shock though he said nothing aloud. Tal did it for him, scoffing as he said, "You cheated! I know you did."

"I would never do something like that," Rosa said, laying a hand over her chest in a show of being offended. "It's not my fault you and Revas are so easy to trick." She leaned forward and reached slowly for Tal's wineglass. "Now, if you don't mind, _isamalin,_ I'm going to claim my reward now."

As he sulked she drank the rest of his wine with a satisfied sigh and smack of her lips before turning to Solas with a triumphant, beaming grin. "I see you have some mashed potatoes left over after all, my dear flat-ear."

Solas frowned. "I agree with you, Tal. She cheated."

"Sore losers," Rosa said, smirking as she lifted her spoon and reached over to his tray and began scooping the mashed potatoes onto her own. When she'd finished she slowly, sensually, brought one mound of the white, fluffy paste to her mouth and ate it. Eyes fluttering closed, she moaned her enjoyment and Solas glowered at her, feeling heat leap into his face and…other places, as well.

Varric reclined as much as his seat would allow, propping up his booted feet. His expression was smug. "My luck seems to be changing. Finally." Smirking, he looked to Solas and Tal. "So, which one of you wants to go next?"

"I will," Tal said, shooting Solas a quick glance, seeking permission. "If it's all right with you, _falon."_

Solas nodded. "It is—although I'd prefer if you did not cheat the way _some_ have."

Still eating his mashed potatoes, Rosa winked at him as she licked over the spoon in a way that made something in Solas' groin tighten and spread with warmth. He fidgeted in his seat, determinedly ignoring her deliberate teasing as Tal began his stories.

"If I cheat," Tal said with a grin at Solas. "I promise it will be in your and Varric's favor." Nodding with a suddenly serious expression, Tal said, "You guys might've heard by now that my Keeper hated my guts. Well, once I was old enough to understand he didn't like me, the feeling became very much mutual. He spit curses at me and whenever he could he'd order me to do menial chores and if I acted up he liked to try and punish me before my own parents. But that never stopped me from getting into trouble— _especially_ if it was something I knew would piss him off." He grinned mischievously. "One day I overheard him talking with the old hearthkeeper that he'd had troubling dreams and heard wolves howling. He thought we should strike camp because the place we'd chosen was under the Dread Wolf's gaze and would bring us misery."

Solas barely restrained the desire to roll his eyes at this, choosing to eat more of his gravy-smothered turkey instead. As covertly as he could, Solas looked across the table to Rosa and saw her fingering her cookie idly, a smirk over her lips as she listened to Tal.

"But the hearthkeeper disagreed and suggested he try setting up an altar first, to appease the old wolf. I knew the Keeper was really paranoid about the Dread Wolf, so I decided to prank him. So, that night I grabbed the biggest, blackest pelt my family had and I snuck out. I waited just outside camp, watching, and eventually I saw the Keeper leave and I followed him to where he set up the wolf totem. I watched him lay out herbs for dreaming and an offering of food and then, when he rose to return to camp, I started howling for all I was worth."

Tal broke off and imitated wolf howling, making Varric and Rosa laugh while Solas bit back his own humor, distracted by the way the mages closest to them shot annoyed glares in their direction. He heard a few mutterings of "savage," scattered about the dining hall, but otherwise no one cared.

"And his eyes bugged out with terror," Tal went on, letting out full belly laughs. "When I started to move closer to him through the forest, making a ton of noise, he fell over on his ass and yelped." He broke off, making a high-pitched noise in his throat. "He pleaded for his life for a second and then lost his nerve and ran away. I about died laughing."

"Were you caught?" Varric asked once he'd finished laughing.

"Nope," Tal said, beaming. "That was the best part. The Keeper repeated that story for years about how he'd seen the Dread Wolf when he made the offering." He snickered, shaking his head. "Stupid old fool."

"On with your next story," Rosa prompted him, biting with a snapping sound into her cookie.

"Okay, since I was never trained properly by my clan's Keeper, I spent a lot of time learning how to be a hunter instead. The hunters were eager to take me in, even if the Keeper wasn't. I learned how to construct a bow and fashion arrows. I learned how to wield daggers and use poison. I learned how to set snares. And I was damn good at it! My partner was a boy a bit older than me, by the name of Sahon. Sahon and I were really close, kinda like brothers except…"

He blushed suddenly and cleared his throat as Rosa snorted with amusement. "Anyway, one day when I was around fourteen we're hidden together in a thicket and it's blighting _cold_ outside and we haven't seen so much as a squirrel all day. Sahon gives up and tells me he's sure we won't catch anything so we might as well shoot the breeze and huddle close for warmth while we pass the time. So we did and…"

Rosa groaned and covered her eyes with one hand. "Really, Tal? Another 'first time' story?"

"Yes," Tal harrumphed, shooting her an indignant look. "Not all of us have stories about talking animals and fortunetellers. And really, it's not a lie. It _was_ my first time. With a man."

Varric laughed. "So that's how that story ends, kid?" He whistled. "You Dalish apparently have all the fun."

"Sitting outside in hunting blinds in the bitter chill of winter?" Rosa quipped with a mild frown. "Starving if we haven't gathered enough food and game grows scarce? Being hunted by nobles for sport? Oh yes," she finished sarcastically. "We are having just a grand time."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Varric said, both hands raised in a defensive gesture. "Sorry I said it."

"Don't mind her," Tal said. "She's just jealous."

Rosa snorted. "Right. Well, can I guess now or do I have to wait?"

"You go last," Tal snapped. "Duh." Turning slightly toward Solas, he asked, "Revas? Which one's the lie?"

Solas hummed in the back of his throat as he considered. Both tales rang true to him. He suspected Tal was now cheating, telling two truths or two lies so that he could pick the winners and losers at will. Especially as he'd promised to punish Rosa. On that thought, Solas said, "The first tale is the lie. I suspect you did play a trick on your Keeper, but you were caught."

Tal scoffed, feigning offense. "Have a little faith in my pranking skills, Revas! You wound me." Chuckling, he looked to Varric. "What about you?"

Varric scratched at his chin, clearly pensive. "I'm going to agree with Chuckles here because your other 'first time' story was the truth last time too." He shook his head then, shooting Solas a doubtful look. "Then again, Chuckles _did_ lose the last round..."

"Too late, you cast your vote," Tal said, smirking as he turned now to Rosa. "And now for you, _asamalin."_

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever I say you'll say it's wrong because I know you're cheating."

"Tough," Tal said. "You started this when you cheated first."

Huffing, Rosa said, "The first story is the truth and the second is a lie. There. At least now I'll be the only loser instead of you saying all of us lost." Her violet eyes narrowed in challenge. "You're not _that_ good, _isamalin._ "

Tal grinned triumphantly at her as he proclaimed, "The first story is the truth. I _totally_ scared the shit out of the Keeper and Sahon and I were just friends…until a year later that is." He sniggered as he snatched her wineglass and drank the whole thing down in a few greedy gulps.

"Chuckles' turn now," Varric said. "But no more cheating."

"I didn't cheat," Tal protested as he poured more wine from the carafe at the center of the table into Rosa's glass and proceeded to drink that down as well.

"Stop getting your spit all over _my_ glass," Rosa complained with a disgusted scowl. "Ugh."

Ignoring their ongoing bantering, Solas said, "Once, in my youth, I found an abandoned wolf pup. He was weak from malnourishment, but clever enough that he saw in me a potential ally. He did not bite or run, but merely watched me until I offered some of my meat rations. He took to following me, and I welcomed his company with offerings of food. Eventually he and I became fast friends and he accompanied me everywhere I went, aiding me as I hunted and foraged. I named him Fenar and he was ever at my side until, one day, age got the better of him and he slipped and fell. His injuries were too severe for me to heal with magic alone and…" He fell silent as the anguish and loss washed over him again and made his voice tremble. "There was nothing I could do."

"Mythal have mercy," Tal said, grimacing. "Revas, you're going to make me cry over my wine."

"That's still _my_ glass," Rosa admonished with an irritable huff before she turned her violet eyes to Solas and they crinkled with sadness. " _Ir abelas,_ Sol— _Revas."_ Her cheeks blushed red for a moment before she cleared her throat and returned to eating as a distraction.

"I've never had a dog, or a wolf for that matter," Varric said with a sad sigh. "But Hawke did and I liked that mabari. The good ones, be they dog, wolf, human, elf, qunari or dwarf, don't live nearly long enough." He raised his glass in a toast toward Solas and took a long sip.

Solas nodded his head toward the dwarf, smiling sadly—and yet with fondness—at the memory of his old companion. He'd deliberately intermixed a bit of lie into the tale. In truth, Solas had been able to heal Fenar when he'd fallen and injured himself in old age. But eventually the old wolf's heart had given out and Solas had still had to hold his dearest companion close and watch as the life left him. Thinking of it now could still make his eyes smart, so he pushed those thoughts aside in favor of his next story, a complete fabrication.

"I once worked for a small village healer and herbalist who had just given birth to her first child and was in no condition to gather the herbs and other supplies she needed. Her child was weak and sickly, and she feared leaving him at all would lead to his death. For a few coins and a place to sleep, I aided her by foraging for what she needed and I was happy to do so. In turn, she taught me much of the herb lore I now know over the three weeks I remained there. I might have stayed longer, but some of the villagers objected to my presence as an apostate. One day I returned to the village after foraging and saw Templars had surrounded the healer's hut. I knew they sought me, of course, and I did not wish to lose my freedom. I had no choice but to flee. Sadly, I will never know what became of the healer and her tiny, frail son."

"You're just full of sunshine and rainbows today, Revas," Tal said, sighing.

"The first story wasn't altogether sad," Rosa objected. "It was a story of friendship. And I'm sure the healer and her son are fine."

"You're lying through your teeth," Tal said, smirking as he shook his head. "You're a pessimist, _asamalin._ You don't fool me." He raised the wineglass he'd pilfered from her in a mock toast.

"Sweet Sylaise, am I ever going to get that back?" Rosa asked, jabbing a finger at the wineglass.

"I doubt it," Varric answered for Tal as the young elf poured more wine into his sister's glass.

"Here," Solas said, passing his glass to Rosa. "You may use mine if you wish."

Now Tal laughed once, a sharp guffaw as he pointed between Solas and Rosa. "See! I _knew_ the two of you were swapping spit…and _other_ fluids."

Solas frowned, irritated at such a blunt, crass reference to his _potential_ budding relationship with Rosa. "Excuse me?" he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Laughing, Rosa accepted Solas' glass and poured a bit of wine into it. Solas felt her eyes on him as she sipped, enjoying his discomfort at the topic. Refusing to look at her, he focused his glowering gaze on Tal instead until the young elf grinned mischievously and said, "You heard me, _falon._ You and _ara'asamalin."_ He waggled his eyebrows and made a slick clicking noise with his tongue that made Solas scowl.

"Which story is true?" Solas prompted, his voice a light grumble. "You have veered off topic."

"But on target," Tal replied, still flashing a leering, suggestive grin. Gesturing with his glass, he indicated Rosa across the table. "See, Varric? She's blushing. They're both _blushing."_

Varric chuckled. "I think you've had too much to drink again, Stoic." To Solas he said, "My vote is for your first story being the truth. Feels right that you had a wolf in the wilds."

Solas eyed the dwarf with mild suspicion for a moment before smiling, sure that whatever Varric meant it wasn't a veiled reference to his hidden identity as Fen'Harel.

"I agree with Varric," Rosa said, her violet eyes warm with affection as she stared at him across the table and, slowly, without breaking eye contact, took another sip from his glass.

"Tal?" Solas asked again, still glowering unhappily at the younger elf.

Smirking, Tal said, "I'm just going to break the mold and say the second story is true and the first is the lie."

Taking in a quick breath, Solas made his decision and revealed, "The first story was true. The second was a complete fabrication."

"Ha!" Rosa said, laughing. "I _knew_ it. You totally look like you're the dog-loving kind."

"Fenar was a wolf," Solas corrected her blandly. Turning to Tal, he held his hand out, palm up, in the universal motion for _pay up._ "I will take your cookie _and_ Rosa's glass, please."

Tal scoffed. "That's two prizes. I only lost once." He snatched the cookie from his plate while he held the wineglass up in the other hand. "You can only have one, Revas. Those are the rules."

"I'm happy with this glass," Rosa told him, smirking. "Take his cookie. That's what he really wants."

"No," Tal whined, snatching the cookie back. "Here, have her glass back if you want her spit so badly."

Varric laughed, covering his face with one hand as if Tal's tipsiness was embarrassing—which, frankly, Solas thought it was. "You just gave away your game, Stoic."

Solas reached quickly around Tal and grabbed the cookie, happy to claim this prize. Tal groaned with regret as he bit into it. _"Fenedhis lasa."_ He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "Fine, cookie breath."

"You didn't eat it fast enough," Rosa scolded him playfully. "You have only yourself to blame."

"Cookies are _dessert,"_ Tal told her haughtily. "You don't eat them until—"

A call from the front of the dining hall interrupted him as an enchanter announced dinner had ended. The mages groaned collectively and rose from their seats. Some took their trays back to the food line to make cleanup easier for the Tranquil, but many of them left their empty plates where they were. Tal grabbed up their group's trays and, struggling to balance them, rose to return them to the Tranquil. Solas watched the younger elf with a slight smile on his face, amused by the way Tal lurched a bit to one side as he walked, his tipsiness showing.

"See you guys tomorrow," Varric said with a little salute.

And then Solas found himself walking beside Rosa as they shuffled their way out of the dining hall with the other mages. She wore dark blue robes that felt silky when he brushed his hand over her forearm in a not-so-accidental bit of contact. "I did not expect to see you released so soon," he admitted, his voice quiet and tight with worry.

She shrugged, smiling as she shot him a sideways look. "A little insubordination never hurt anyone."

 _It hurt both of us,_ he thought sourly and frowned, recalling the pain in his skull from Ser Tess's beating. "We must be more cautious," he murmured. "Or neither of us will live to achieve our ultimate goal."

They were drawing close to the Templars stationed just outside of the dining hall and Rosa's hand reached out for his, squeezing tightly. Solas nearly gasped at the sudden warmth and firmness of her hold. Aware of supervision, he jerked his hand once, trying to tug free of her. "Did you truly hear _nothing_ of what I just said?" he admonished. "Or do you miss the inside of your cell?"

She sighed and released his hand. "Fine, fine. But surely you've noticed they don't care as much with the mages?" Jerking her chin, she indicated a couple ahead of them who held each other's hands, bold and fearless as they walked by the Templars.

"I have noticed, but that is not reason enough to be careless," Solas muttered. Staring at her, he saw she wore a smug look, amused at something. "What?" he asked her, wincing at the near-bark of the single word question.

"You," she answered, grinning. "It's just fun to rile you."

"It is not any _fun_ for me, lethallan," he retorted tartly.

She chuckled at his expense as they reached the first set of stairs and ascended them. The shuffling noise of the other mages echoed through the stairwell and off the stone. Dozens of voices murmured in soft conversation.

"Where is your room?" Rosa asked him, edging closer until her shoulder brushed against his.

Solas tried to tamp down the anticipatory twist of excitement inside his guts and failed. "It is the third from the northern privy on the seventh level." After a slight pause, he asked tightly, "Why do you ask?"

She grinned at him. "No reason, but in case you want to know, _my_ room is on the northwest corner of the sixth level. You want to stop by and see it? Lights out isn't for another…" She shrugged. "Half an hour?"

He swallowed, trying to force his stomach back down and out of his throat. "We shouldn't…" They were fast approaching the sixth level, just another circle around the stairwell…

"C'mon," Rosa cajoled, mischief burning in her violet eyes. "I promise I won't keep you long. I just want to show you something. Please?"

Solas felt that dangerous emotion inside him flutter, his heart pounding with excitement, though he feigned reluctance. "Very well."

"Good," Rosa said, smirking as the glint in her eyes intensified. She grabbed his hand, squeezing, and tugged him toward the arched doorway of the sixth level and, presumably, toward her room on the northwest corner. But, as they passed the open entryway of the privy facing north, Rosa pulled him into it with a giggle and pivoted to knock the door shut behind her with a foot.

Hearing the door clank shut heavily, Solas took in the privy. He saw a bench where people sat to relieve themselves and grimaced with slight disgust at the faint odor of feces and urine, masked as it was by sweet-smelling incense. There were two enormous tubs on opposite sides of the walls, set into counters and inlaid with red and gold tiling to form the symbol of the Circle of Magi. It was finer than any outhouse or latrine the peasants would have used, pre and post-Veil alike, but far from the opulence of Arlathan where water had flowed in actual indoor plumbing.

Turning round to face her, Solas took a breath to speak, though he wasn't sure what he planned to say, only to have her pounce on him. Her lips against his silenced anything he might've said and washed away any thought of hesitation or resistance. In the waking world she was at least as delicious as in the dreaming, possibly more, full of minute sounds and tasting of wine from dinner. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her tightly to him and feeling, with lightheaded euphoria, her hands roving over him in turn.

She pushed against him, backing him toward the counters where the tubs sat in their tiled finery. The backs of Solas' knees thumped into it and he stumbled backward, breaking their sloppy kiss with a muted yelp of surprise. Rosa moved to help him and they laughed together a moment before Solas pressed forward to kiss her again. Rosa responded eagerly, letting out a little moan and wrapping her hands around his neck as she crawled into his lap.

Solas slid his own hands down her waist, feeling the silkiness of her robes and the lush curve of her body. Her weight in his lap scattered his thoughts, ripping them away and destroying them. There was only the warmth and delectable taste of her mouth, her playful nibbling and sucking at his tongue and lips, and her greedy hands digging at his neckline. His own hands found the seam at the back of her robes where a series of buttons kept it secured shut at the top. His nimble, long fingers popped a few buttons open and slid inside to caress her back and Rosa moaned, breaking their kiss to arch into his touch.

" _Solas,"_ she breathed his name, lusty and low and he responded by nibbling along her jawline and then dipping to her neck and ear. He teased the tip of her ear and felt a thrill of exhilaration when she shivered and moaned against him.

Then the heavy tromp of armored boots pounded on the floor just outside the privy and Rosa pulled back from him, gasping and eyes wide. _"Fenedhis,"_ she cursed and Solas, bleary through the haze of arousal that'd descended on his mind, stared at her uncomprehendingly until metal clapped against the wooden door of the privy. The door had a small lock and Rosa had apparently engaged it, so the door didn't open but merely clattered on its old hinges.

"No baths this late," a woman's voice shouted from outside. "Hurry up or I'm unlocking this."

Solas gawked at Rosa, horror making him abruptly cold. "They have keys?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"Apparently," she snarled under her breath. Her lips found his ear, whispering, "Open the door when you're ready. I'll sneak out after you."

He pulled back from her, frowning as he searched her face. "How?"

Grinning slyly, she scrambled back from him and, drawing in a fast breath as her features twisted with concentration, Solas felt the slight tingle of magic as Rosa vanished from view. His mouth fell open with surprise for a second before he heard another angry pounding on the door from the Templar. "Hurry up!" the woman yelled. "Last warning."

Heart pounding, from both the threat of punishment at the hands of the Templars and from the recent rush of desire, Soilas conjured cold, using it to stamp out any physical signs of his arousal. Then, with a swift survey of the seemingly empty privy, Solas rose to his feet and went to the door before the Templar could pound on it again. He slid the lock into the open position and opened it wide for the Templar on the other side to see inside, plastering his politest smile on his lips. "A thousand pardons," he said to the frowning Templar on the other side. "I am from the level above and this is only my first—"

"Out of the way," the Templar snarled, and pushed past him into the privy. She sniffed faintly, turning in a circle as she looked for some sign of wrongdoing by Solas.

For his part, Solas quickly left the little room, freeing up the doorway. The door started to swing shut but caught on something that, for an instant, shimmered. A heartbeat later Solas felt something warm brush around him.

The Templar scoffed, finally satisfied that there was nothing amiss. She stomped out of the privy, glaring at Solas. "You say you're from the seventh level?"

"Yes. I hoped to visit a friend before—"

"Then get going," the Templar grumbled, waving dismissively at him. "Off with you."

"Yes, ser," Solas said demurely and pivoted about on his heel to make his way back to the stairs. The mages had finished filing in from dinner and it was empty now, dark and poorly lit as the glow lamps on the wall dimmed with nighttime.

As Solas neared the first landing he saw Rosa materialize. He hurried up the last few steps to meet her. "How did you learn such a spell?" he asked, then grimaced at how rough his voice sounded.

She shrugged, her coy smile in place. "It's a useful little trick. That's all."

"That is not an answer," Solas grumbled. Switching to elven and lowering the volume of his voice, he said, _"That is a stealth spell from Arlathan."_ It was the same spell he had used to hide himself from a passing Templar on the stairs while sneaking into the library to meet with her a few days previously. It should not have survived the fall of Elvhenan as it was already a rare spell pre-Veil and difficult to teach. Suddenly, Solas recalled Tal's great stealth, how easily the youth had been able to sneak out of the apprentice barracks to grab lyrium. _"Tal knows this spell as well,"_ he guessed aloud.

Rosa shrugged again, dismissing his concerns. "I taught him."

"And who taught you?" Solas asked sharply.

"It's something we pass on in my clan," she said, giving yet another shrug. "Why does it bother you so much?"

 _Because only a handful of those closest to a select few Evanuris ever learned it._ Spells and magic had been currency in Elvhenan, meaning that those in power reserved such knowledge to benefit themselves alone. There were other invisibility spells, of course, such as the Fade-cloak used by arcane warriors and knight-enchanters. But the spell Rosa had used was limited by mana, not time, and was subtle enough that other magic users might miss the sense of it. Dirthamen had been the first to craft it for use in spying, and Mythal had learned it from her son. She'd eventually shared it with Solas. Other than those three Evanuris, the spell had only proliferated through favored members of court, military leaders, and direct descendants of Dirthamen and likely Mythal.

Even in the dim lighting of the hallway, Solas saw the pale markings of Rosa's vallaslin and narrowed his eyes. How…interesting that brother and sister were marked for those very same Evanuris: Mythal for Tal and Dirthamen for Rosa.

"Solas?" she asked him, concern warping her features, twisting the vallaslin around her mouth. "What's wrong?"

He wiped away his suspicions for now and smiled. "Forgive me, the spell merely took me by surprise. I have not seen it in…"

"A long time," Rosa finished for him, smirking as she nodded. "Do you know it?"

He saw no sign of hidden meaning in her question, no trap waiting to spring, but nearly lied anyway for fear that she knew how restricted the spell had been. Yet, according to his own cover story, evolving as it was, he was a grandson of Mythal and had served in her forces as a general. He _could_ feasibly know the spell that way…

"I do," he revealed and then followed it with a lie. "But I am not very proficient at it. It was taught to me in haste."

"Well," Rosa purred, grinning teasingly. "Maybe I can teach you because I'm _very_ good at it."

The suspicion solidified harder within his mind at that Rosa's Elvhen ancestor, Ivun as she had named him, was no distant descendant of June and Sylaise. _Dirthamen's blood runs in her veins._ Staring at her in the poor lighting, Solas could almost see the likeness. _No wonder she so reminds me of Mythal._ Tal's distinctly Elvhen features made sudden sense as well. But Solas knew of no one within Dirthamen or Mythal's court by the name of Ivun, which suggested he'd been distant and unimportant.

Whatever the truth, seeing the playful smile on Rosa's face made him certain she had no idea of what she'd revealed. Perhaps Ivun had lied about who he truly was?

"I would be happy to learn," Solas replied, letting his voice delve into the same flirtatious range as hers.

"See you tomorrow then," she said and sauntered past him, deliberately brushing against his side as she headed down to the sixth level. Over her shoulder she called back to him teasingly: "Flat-ear."

Solas chuckled to himself after she'd gone and headed the rest of the way up the stairs.

* * *

Elven Used:

 _ara'asamalin:_ my sister.

 _Isamalin/Asamalin:_ Brother/sister

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

The Knight-Captain—his name was Brycen she recalled—snapped his fingers and made a gesture to someone behind the two Templars holding Rosa. "Grab her clothes. We should at least offer her that decency."

"Thank you," Rosa grumbled. She tried to swallow, ignoring the vile taste of blood in her mouth. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in a wavy, tangled mess as she tried to clear her thoughts from the iciness of the fear racing through her. Her heart drummed and her eyes burned, sure that whatever was coming would be highly unpleasant. _This is the Formless One's punishment,_ she thought. Her mouth went dry, as if she'd tried to swallow a whole bag full of flour. Still, she forced herself to speak, to face this horror, whatever it may be. "What are the charges you've trumped up against me now?"

* * *

Original FFnet author notes: How about that stealth spell discovery, eh? I'm convinced something like it exists and was used by Felassan (and by extension we can guess Solas will know it too) in _The Masked Empire._ If you've not read the book, there's two instances (possibly 3) where Felassan vanishes/appears suspiciously. Once when Briala is arrested and she wonders where the bleep Felassan has run off to and why he wasn't caught. The next time is when Briala is escaping captivity and nearly collides with Felassan and thinks he appeared out of thin air. I took that idea and ran with it here to give it to Solas...and expose Rosa (and Tal) with the implications.

Many thanks to [] for your review! I hope you feel a little more upbeat about Rosa's prophecy with this chapter. I _could_ be using a red herring. Rosa has already loved someone she can't keep because he's dead. I swear there's still hope!


	23. The Formless One's Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall: I…don't know what to say.  
> Solas: Nor will you, until you've seen ignorance snatch away all that you love. Pray such a day never finds you.
> 
> Solas receives updates from his agents. Meanwhile, the Formless One exacts its punishment on Rosa and Tal.

That night in the dreaming Solas reached out to Zevanni and Felassan for status updates. Zevanni reported that she and her small group of Dalish mercenaries had left Tevinter and crossed most of Nevarra. They were only about a day's journey outside of Hasmal, though Solas reminded her that her band of elves wasn't nearly enough to prove a threat to the tower. Escape could not come from outside without a much larger force, and they just did not have that at their disposal. For the meantime, he ordered her to lie in wait and observe the land and the city of Hasmal itself. When the opportune time came, they would strike from within and without to ensure escape.

It was from Felassan, however, that he learned the most interesting and encouraging news. His old friend had finally gotten Thelhen, the Keeper of clan Virnehn, to take action in their quest to reactivate eluvians in nearby ruins within the Dales. Thelhen had summoned a powerful demon—Imshael—one of the Forbidden Ones just as Felassan had predicted—but could not get the demon to part with the keystone it possessed that would grant control over the eluvians. The situation was complex, however, and troubled by the fact that Felassan had foolishly brought his ward, Briala, and the Empress of Orlais with her chevalier into the mix.

"Orlais has fallen to civil war," Felassan told him, sounding tired. "The Empress and her cousin or brother or whatever he is—Gaspard—pursued us. Any other two _shemlen_ I would kill without hesitation, but I believe the Empress to be more valuable alive. Furthermore, we have some limited means to control her through my ward, Briala." He broke off a moment, smirking with dry humor. "She holds the Empress's ear…among other things."

The Empress and her rogue elven handmaiden were lovers, Solas knew. It'd been interesting and intriguing news when he first learned of it through Felassan years ago, but these three outsiders—Ser Michel, Empress Celene, and Briala—now threatened Felassan's mission. Solas was tempted to order Felassan to kill all three of them just to preserve the secrecy of the eluvians, but Felassan had more to report.

The situation had changed for Felassan when Imshael lured Michel and tricked him into releasing it. But, in doing so, he'd managed to obtain the Keystone Thelhen—and Felassan—had wanted. Making a decision on the fly, Felassan had allowed Imshael to escape and "play" while he, Briala, Celene, and Michel ran to activate the eluvians. Now they were walking through a section of the Crossroads, heading to a central chamber where the keystone would activate a vast number of eluvians, reestablishing a large network of them. There was just one _slight…_ actually, it was a _major_ problem.

"The Empress of Orlais possesses the keystone?" Solas asked in a deadpan.

"She does," Felassan confirmed with a swift nod and a wincing expression. "I'm working on it, _hahren._ She will _not_ be the one to activate the eluvians. Even if I must kill her myself."

"You must be cautious," Solas told him, though his voice was hard with disapproval. Felassan had let this situation spiral out of control. "Attacking the Empress will turn all three of your companions against you. Do you possess enough strength to crush them all quickly?"

"It won't come to that," Felassan said, a frown twisting his face and the vallaslin around his eyes. "I have faith that I can manipulate Briala into acting on my behalf."

Solas glowered at his agent with disapproval. "I fail to see how that will aid _you_ in procuring the keystone, _da'len."_ He let his irritation color his voice, communicating his disappointment in Felassan's sloppiness with this mission. "This should not have been an issue in the first place. You should not have accompanied Briala after rescuing her from Gaspard. Had you not done so, you could have already obtained the keystone from Imshael and Thelhen and his clan would still be alive."

"You don't care about clan Virnehn," Felassan challenged him, scoffing.

That was true, but..."Dalish hunters would be far better companions in your current journey," Solas pointed out. "Simply by virtue of their elven blood. The _shemlen_ should never have been allowed to see the Crossroads."

Felassan let out a short breath. "I will admit the humans are pathetically slow in the Crossroads. It's been quite entertaining, however, to see how many shades of green they turn during our long walks."

Even though the idea of the Orlesian Empress looking nauseous did make Solas want to smirk, he clenched his jaw and remained stiff with authority. Felassan's softness for his ward had made him reckless and foolish. "Whatever happens, _falon,_ you must be the sole person who knows how to access the eluvians. Do _not_ fail me."

Felassan stared at him, his eyes dark even in the already dim lighting of the raw Fade. Slowly, he smiled, though it did not touch his eyes. " _Ma nuvenin,_ " he said. "I know what is at stake."

And Solas nodded at him once, curt and sharp, aware of the silent communication that had passed between them. _Fail me again and your life is forfeit._

Solas had little patience for repeated failure and Felassan had known he would not approve of his intervention with Briala, Celene, and Michel, yet he had done it anyway. Sometimes, in the hard glint of his old friend's eyes, Solas thought he saw something akin to defiance, and it seemed to be emerging now in his actions. If he could not bring himself to turn away from his ward Briala when she was in danger, even at the expense of his mission…how could he go through with destroying the Veil knowing that would kill her just as surely?

It was one thing to realize the beings of this world were real, as _real_ as anything from Elvhenan, but it was quite another to let that realization stay one's hand or alter one's actions. And this was far from the first time Felassan had disappointed him in one way or another since waking. He'd been slow to check in, slow to complete missions or do as Solas bid him, though he had never outright defied an order. The moment he did…

Solas refused to let himself consider that. Felassan had been a longtime friend of his, almost a little brother, in fact. He had acted as Felassan's mentor and teacher, shaping the boy from a young age. His devotion had been unwavering and unquestionable in Arlathan. But now…?

Only time would tell if Felassan could truly be the Slow Arrow he'd named himself after or if he would miss his mark and fail.

* * *

The sound of armored feet tromping into the room echoed inside Rosa's dreams, giving her a split second to wrench her consciousness free of the Fade. Gasping, she sat up in her bed as the door to the room she shared with three other women burst open and five Templar thugs filed into her room. Their maleness was the first thing that struck her and the other women as they all cringed, fearing this would be the moment when their Templar captors would finally turn into beasts.

They'd heard whispers of the abuses inflicted on mages and Tranquil in Kirkwall and Rosa had heard more than a few rumors of it in this tower. Certainly plenty of the female mages were no stranger to sexual harassment of the kind cretins like the so-called _Ser_ Curtis administered. Even the Templar women had been aware of his depravity. So the women's first instinct now was to cringe and shy away, cover themselves and cry out with alarm.

Rosa kept her own lips tightly shut as the cold hand of doom clutched at her throat. She knew these Templars had come for her, not any of her roommates. And, sure enough, two of the Templars reached their glinting, armored arms for her. In her sleep-blurred eyes they looked like curled claws, hard and ready to rake her. Still partly in the Fade, her fear called Rogathe and she felt the spirit press against the Veil. But she did not call on it as the Templars' hands closed over her arms and hauled her from the bed.

Stumbling forward, she flailed, trying to find her robes, as she was dressed merely in her underthings. "Let me get dressed," she snarled. "At least let me—"

The Templar walking in front of the two holding her whipped about on his heel and slapped her across the face. Rosa cried out as much with surprise as pain. She tasted blood in her mouth and gritted her teeth, relieved to find none of them broken or hurting when she probed them with her tongue.

"Ser Jeremy," said the Templar from further ahead, the leader it seemed. "Striking the prisoner is not necessary. _Yet."_

"Yes, Knight-Captain," Jeremy replied stiffly.

The Knight-Captain—his name was Brycen she recalled—snapped his fingers and made a gesture to someone behind the two Templars holding Rosa. "Grab her clothes. We should at least offer her that decency."

"Thank you," Rosa grumbled. She tried to swallow, ignoring the vile taste of blood in her mouth. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in a wavy, tangled mess as she tried to clear her thoughts from the iciness of the fear racing through her. Her heart drummed and her eyes burned, sure that whatever was coming would be highly unpleasant. _This is the Formless One's punishment,_ she thought. Her mouth went dry, as if she'd tried to swallow a whole bag full of flour. Still, she forced herself to speak, to face this horror, whatever it may be. "What are the charges you've trumped up against me now?"

Jeremy bristled, his hand close to her curling into a fist, but he was smart enough not to speak. The Knight-Captain turned to regard her again, his brow furrowing as if he was confused by her question. Then he said, "We received a tip today that you have kin in this tower and have been concealing it. Unfortunately for you, it's obvious just who that kin is—the Dalish boy who came in with you."

Rosa snorted, grimacing as she tasted blood. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. "And you believed that tip? Just because Tal and I were traveling together doesn't mean we're blood-kin. Even if we were from the same clan—which we're _not—_ it wouldn't mean we share blood. People come and go from clans all the time…" That wasn't really all that true, but these _shemlen_ curs didn't need to know that.

The Knight-Captain strode closer to her and bent over so that his face was pressed close enough to hers that she could feel his breath puff against her cheek. She recoiled with revulsion, lips curling. Brycen withdrew at that reaction, chuckling sinisterly. "I'm afraid your reputation doesn't lend much credence to your claims countering this bit of news. The fact is, we should have sent one of you knife-ear savages to another tower on principle, but the nearest Circle would be in Kirkwall and that's just not an option any longer."

"Tal and I aren't related," Rosa tried again, obstinate. "We were simply traveling together. He's from a clan in Orlais. I'm from a clan in the Brecilian Forest."

Brycen toyed with his gauntleted hand, not bothering to look at her or answer. She realized she was wearing little more than a breast band and some pathetic, sheer breeches the Circle had provided. She squirmed, tugging on her arms, which the Templars to her left and right still held securely in their cold, biting grip, and adjusted her legs, trying to keep them closed at the thigh.

The Templar from behind their group, who'd been sent to fetch her clothing, appeared and stood nearby. Rosa recognized him as Ser Ginger, the Templar with the gambling addiction. What was his true name? Something snotty and Orlesian…

"All right," Brycen said with a sniff as he registered Ser Ginger's return. Facing her again, he stepped closer on surprisingly quiet feet, considering he wore armored boots. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, my dear. The easy way is that you confess the clear and obvious truth about the other Dalish being your kinsman. The hard way will take longer and be more painful for all involved."

"I've never had anything easy," Rosa snapped, grinning hard at him. "Why would I start taking the easy way out now?" She glared at him defiantly. "Because Tal _isn't_ my kin. We don't share any blood! Not everyone with tattoos on their face and pointed ears is related."

"The tip I received suggested otherwise," Brycen said with a sniff. "You refuse to cooperate? Very well." He motioned at the Templars holding her. "Take her down to the cells. Interrogate her and the knife-ear boy." Frowning as his gaze traveled up and down Rosa's body, he snapped his fingers at Ser Ginger. "But dress her first. We're not savages."

"Right," Rosa said with a bitter laugh. " _I'm_ the savage, remember?"

Jeremy reached out and cuffed the back of her head, just hard enough to jostle her and hurt. She glared at him as the two Templars holding her finally let go and Ser Ginger extended her robes to her. Shrugging them on and quickly securing them, Rosa squared her shoulders and stood erect with as much pride as she could muster. "Take me away, _shemlen_ dogs."

"Any more outbursts from you and I'll let Ser Jeremy hit you as many times as he'd like," Brycen snapped at her.

Huffing to swallow down the wild mixture of fury and dread coiling inside her, Rosa let them lead her away down the hall toward the stairwell. She wondered how many of the mages, sleeping behind their closed doors, had overheard all of this, and she wondered if one of them had gone to the Knight-Captain about her and Tal. _But if someone did,_ she realized, _it was because the Formless One planted the idea._

* * *

Solas was surprised, upon waking the following morning, that he hadn't seen or felt Rosa try to draw him into her dreams. Of course, she _had_ said she would see him tomorrow, which seemed to indicate she'd had other plans for her dreams that night. That suited Solas well enough as he'd devoted his time to learning from his agents and traipsing through a few senior enchanters' dreams to begin familiarizing himself with them.

Tranquil appeared early at their door with breakfast foods, and Rosa had been correct when she said they were far better than anything the apprentices received. Three Tranquil stopped by his room, each carrying baskets with baked goods, bowls of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and buttered bread. One of the Tranquil also carried fruit that Adwen, Solas' elven roommate and apparently a friend of Tal's, claimed came from Antiva and Tevinter.

"It's exotic," the elf kept repeating as he bit into a hunk of orange-fleshed melon. Juice dribbled down his chin and he quickly mopped it up with a sleeve. "Really, Revas, try it!"

 _It's only cantaloupe,_ Solas thought and tried to drum up false enthusiasm and surprise as he relented and bit into a hunk of melon that Adwen gave him. "Yes, it is delicious." He preferred the baked goods, as those were a bit more _exotic_ to an Elvhen man as they were more recent inventions, and he had never eaten them before waking from his long sleep. Digging out a cinnamon-apple sweet bun, he picked it apart and relished it, thinking of Rosa and wishing Templars hadn't so rudely interrupted his illicit breakfast with her.

Their other roommate, Francis, wolfed down seven sausages, eight strips of bacon, and two bowls of eggs. With a burp, he excused himself and hustled out into the hall, rudely bumping into the Tranquil still lingering in their room, waiting to be dismissed. Solas frowned after him.

"Rude _shem,"_ Adwen said with a knowing nod. "I'm so glad _you_ are the new roommate and not another Francis," Adwen gushed. "Tal speaks very highly of you. He's just a dear, isn't he?"

Solas tried to keep his smile polite, though he wanted to chuckle. If Solas had still been one to bet, he'd wager Adwen and Tal were fast heading toward a physical relationship, judging by the gleeful twinkle in Adwen's eye when he spoke of him. They were both young and seemed to possess similar, friendly personalities. "I've grown quite fond of Tal, yes."

"Well," Adwen said, grinning. "Time to start the day! I volunteered to show you to your classes today, on behalf of Francis—because that oaf wouldn't do a good job of it. The First Enchanter insisted someone show you around so you don't get…sidetracked."

Now Solas' levity faded as he sensed something dark underlying Adwen's easygoing tone near the end. "And how have I been sidetracked?" he asked cautiously.

Now Adwen sighed theatrically and frowned. "You know the answer to that, Revas. The First Enchanter hears about all disciplinary actions the Templars take. He knows you and Rosa have a thing for each other. You know, the biggest part of why you got in trouble there was just because you were still an apprentice…and because she's got a reputation as a troublemaker."

"She is Dalish," Solas protested without thinking. "She has reason to be frustrated by her position here. She and Tal should not have been captured."

Adwen shrugged. "But they were. Nothing you or I or they can do about it. Might as well get used to it." His brow furrowed. "Anyway, I'm just trying to warn you is all. It's bad enough Tal is so attached to her, but he never breaks any rules—at least if he does he never gets caught." Adwen grinned now with mischief. "That's the big secret, you know. Don't get caught. And, if you do, make sure it's by a Templar who's sympathetic. I can point them out to you and then you can learn their rotations and—"

"Thank you," Solas said quickly, lifting his palms in a gesture of _silence._ "But I intend to focus on my studies for now. Rosa and I are merely friends. We met to share breakfast. That is all."

Adwen smirked at him knowingly. "Right. Of course." He clapped his hands and shot upright to his feet from his spot on his bed and motioned to the door. "Let's begin the day! Your first class is on the Chant and then the next one is Enchanter Varian's novice mage course."

Solas frowned. "I am not a novice."

"Have your mana reserves improved since the First Enchanter assessed you?" Adwen asked.

Solas winced. "Slightly…"

"What's the harm in taking the class?" Adwen asked. "It will teach you relaxation and meditation to strengthen your core, like working a muscle to make it more flexible. Sometimes mages who've seen a lot of combat can get a sort of…" Trailing off, he rolled his wrist in a motion that suggested he was struggling to find the right word to describe something. "…dysfunction that diminishes them."

Arching an eyebrow, Solas said, "I have not heard of this." Was Adwen trying to lie to him to coax him into attending the course? The thought of sitting amidst novice mages with barely any power or control made his skin flash hot with humiliation. He was an _Evanuris._

"Well," Adwen said, smiling slightly. "This condition I'm talking about is pretty rare. Most of the time when you reach mana burnout you stop, because it hurts. But if you use up too much, too fast, and don't stop, you'll basically run dry, I guess. Some mages don't bounce back from being completely empty and most mages today wouldn't get a chance to have it because we don't see combat, but some enchanters who fought in the Blight had it and had to use techniques like Varian's to recover. If you think about it though, most of the time if you run that dry on mana you just die because you couldn't kill what you were fighting. So that's why this is so rare."

It was certainly true that Solas had never been stripped completely of mana before. He _had_ reached burnout before, but only during the absolute greatest arcane displays. Yet, erecting the Veil had inevitably done exactly that. In the precious seconds when he had been making his escape from the Golden City, where the seven other Evanuris were trapped in wards he'd set for them, Solas had been exposed to the same spell that absorbed the false-gods' mana. That mana sustained and fueled the Veil itself, holding back the Fade for all eternity. The Veil was like a parasite, sucking the magic from the Evanuris. Before Solas had fled using the Anchor, it must have done the same to him.

Now, if Adwen was right, Solas realized he could have slept for all eternity and never have regained his mana. Drawing from Tal and consuming lyrium had regenerated some of his supply, but it was still pathetically small compared to what he had known.

Brow knitting with thought, Solas said, "You're suggesting that complete loss of all mana leaves the core sundered, broken much like a bone or a sprained muscle. In order to regain full ability, it must be treated."

Adwen nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Solas frowned, realizing this meant he'd need to attend the course and pay dutiful attention if he hoped to see any success. "Then let's go."

"Excellent!" Adwen beamed. "Follow me!"

* * *

After long hours of endless questions about her past and parentage, Rosa finally found herself alone. She curled up on the cold floor, heedless of the grit and the chill, and let sleep take her. She had no idea of the time, but when she searched for Solas she could not find him, which meant he had risen for the day. Somewhere in the tower he had no idea what had befallen her and was attending classes and looking for her in the halls, though he would never see her.

They had beaten her after the first round of questions. At first it was just a twist of her ear, a tug on her hair, wrenching her arm to the point of pain, or just intimidating her by flashing a knife. Her interrogator was a Templar she didn't know, but he slapped her when she didn't end every statement with _ser._ Her facial muscles and bones ached and throbbed from the beating, but the cold of the floor helped. She could heal the damage, but she wanted to be certain they weren't coming back right away before she risked it.

Still, despite the pain and the threats, Rosa hadn't deviated from her story. It was mostly truth, after all. She could still hear her Templar interrogator screaming the questions into her ear, so loud she could barely make him out over the ringing in her skull.

 _Where are you from?_ Clan Naseral in the Brecilian Forest. _Who are you?_ I was First apprentice to the Keeper. _Who was your mother?_ Halesta, Keeper to the clan. _Who was your father?_ Eolas. _How did you meet Tal?_ We met on the road by chance. He was traveling north out of Orlais, and I was working my way by land around the Waking Sea.

The interrogator had asked her to name her ancestors as far back as she could and regretted it when she listed off a long line of them that she knew wouldn't match any Tal said. He'd asked how old Tal was, when he'd been born and where. When she feigned ignorance she received slaps and other small punishments of pain until she grew numb to it and barely flinched when they administered them.

Her thoughts drifted to Tal and a knot of anxiety that burned both hot and cold with her fear and fury churned inside her. She worried what he would do or say under the interrogation. _Whatever happens,_ she thought. _Tal will be all right._ She had to believe that, keep repeating it. As long as she did, she could keep hope alive that they might emerge from this undiscovered and foil the Formless One in the end after all.

She had only just decided to heal herself and sleep properly when the cell door creaked open on its hinges and Templars tramped into her cell, their armored boots echoing in the close darkness. She gnashed her teeth and rose to her feet before they reached her and stayed motionless as two of them surrounded her, holding her arms. In the poor light from the torchbearer who'd come with the first two men, Rosa saw a Tranquil man enter. He had a distinctive tread, short and careful, almost plodding. He carried a scroll and two glass vials that reminded Rosa of the phylacteries they'd taken from her and Tal in their first days in the tower.

More Templars appeared then, filing through the narrow cell door, three of them to be precise. The first was Brycen, and the other two she recognized as Ser Ginger and Jeremy. Held between them, sagging like a heavy back of potatoes, was her brother. His face was puffy and even in the dimness she was sure she saw yellowish bruising around his cheeks and eyes. His lower lip had a cut in it and he had blood spatter from his nose to his chin. Still, he smiled at seeing her and she knew his spirit hadn't been broken. Even as her heart twisted with pain at the sight of him, as if glass had pierced her, she returned his small smile.

"I see you went easy on her, Ser Alain," Brycen said with a nod. "Very good. It'd be a shame to ruin a pretty face, even on a rabbit."

"Yes, ser," the man who'd interrogated her, holding her left arm currently, replied.

Brycen glanced between Tal on one side of the room and Rosa on the other, both held by their respective captors. "It pains me that we must take such drastic measures, but it appears the two of you have had weeks to collude together and neither of you are willing to reveal the truth."

"`Cause we're not kin," Tal said, slurring as though drunk. He winced with pain and Rosa tensed her arms against the Templars holding him as she flinched with empathy for him.

 _Oh little brother…I'm so sorry._ This was her fault as much as the Formless One's. She hadn't found a way to outsmart it and now Tal had to pay the price as much or more than she, just because he shared her blood.

"You know there's no point in denying it," Brycen said. "Though I'll admit, you have your stories down pat. But that shan't stop the truth from being revealed." Pivoting slightly, Brycen gestured to the Tranquil man. "Please collect the samples, but be careful there is no contamination between them."

The Tranquil took up a small, slick knife with a wicked, needle-sharp tip and one of the vials from his tray and turned toward Rosa, who was closest. "Apologies," he said in his monotone voice as he approached, the blade and the vial held at the ready. "This will cause you some pain."

"What are you doing?" Rosa asked, struggling anew. "What in the Void are you going to do?"

"It is a spell we have not had to perform in many years. Sadly, it requires blood to make it work, but it's perfectly harmless."

"No," Rosa said, frenzied now as she struggled, eyes bulging wide as the Tranquil drew closer but paused, apparently hesitating with how much she was able to wriggle despite the Templars holding her. "No," she repeated again, shriller now. "I _cannot_ let you use my blood. This is blood magic! Please…"

_Blood magic weakens the connection to the Fade.  
_

"It's as harmless as the phylacteries," Brycen said, sounding impatient. "And destroyed afterward." He made a face of disgust. "Working with blood is so distasteful."

Across the room, Tal whimpered, _"Asamalin…"_

Rosa gnashed her teeth, her mana bubbling, frothing as she tried to resist drawing from it. How much would this one spell weaken her? _It is no worse than the phylacteries,_ Brycen's voice echoed in her mind. But what did he know? She stared across the cell at her brother and saw his bruised and bloodied face wrench with emotional anguish. No amount of torture individually could get them to talk, but to watch one another undergo it…

She knew Tal would break, but this was just one spell. But there was a chance they could escape this torture in triumph still. Whatever the Templars planned with the blood magic spell would likely yield muddy results. She and Tal shared a father only and these Andrastians likely didn't expect such nontraditional outcomes.

If she could keep Tal at her side, protected, she would sacrifice even the Fade. Going still, she drew in a deep breath and murmured in her breath in elven. _"I am First to Keeper Halesta of clan Naseral. I am of the last Elvhen. Never shall I break. Never shall I yield."_ As she said the word _Elvhen_ she felt the Tranquil prick her with the knife in the neck and continued on through gritted teeth as the cold of the vial pressed to her skin. Hot blood dripped into it and she heard Tal make another sound of weakness in sympathy.

It was over in only those few short moments. The Tranquil stepped back from her, capping the vial and kneeling on the floor to write her name in runes over the glass. The vial was already glowing a sickly red, powered by her blood. Looking at it and feeling the sting and trickle of blood still leaking from her neck, Rosa felt queasy and lightheaded.

She watched helpless as Tal soon underwent the same treatment. He tensed, turning his head away as the Tranquil extended the blade and the vial. Just as she had, he began to repeat the Dalish credo, but he did it in the common tongue so that the humans could understand him. "I am Tal of clan Ghilath. I am the last of the Elvhen. Never shall I break. Never shall I yield."

The Tranquil returned with Tal's vial, capping and labeling it just as he had with Rosa's. Then, as silence descended on the dark, dank little cell, the Tranquil unbound the scroll on his tray and spread it out over the floor. It stretched about a meter long and on it there were markings with notations beneath them. The Tranquil took Rosa's vial and laid it on the far left side of the scroll. He did the same with Tal's, laying it right alongside the first. The vials clinked together, the red in them swirling and glowing bright.

As the Tranquil released Tal's vial it began to roll away, as if propelled by some invisible force. The glass vial rolled fast at first until slowing and finally stopping. The Tranquil slowly lifted his hand from Rosa's vial and after rocking slightly in place it fell still.

Losing his patience, Brycen said, "What does it say, Martin?"

The Tranquil shifted in place, shuffling on his knees to examine where Tal's vial had come to rest. "A moment, please," he said in his monotone. Carefully lifting the vial, the Tranquil stared down at the line and the notations below it. Finally he said, "The results are unclear."

Rosa's legs went weak with relief and she almost laughed, her heart thudding against he breastbone. Tal's eyes were wide with shock across the room, though he swiftly cleared the expression as Brycen stalked over to look down on the scroll and the vials. "Explain this to me, Martin," he demanded. "I _know_ these two are related."

"There is a relation," the Tranquil said and Rosa's stomach clenched and seemed to fall out of her and through the floor at that pronouncement. She had allowed them to take her blood for nothing.

"But it is unclear," Martin went on. He began to perform the test again, bringing the two vials together and holding them so that they touched at the left side of the scroll.

"The spell makes the blood behave the same way that two magnets would," he explained as he released one vial and they watched it roll away, fast at first before it slowed suddenly and stopped near one of the lines. "The vials repel one another, like magnets of the same polarity, if they share kinship. The further they repel one another, the closer the relation."

Lifting the vial from where it'd stopped, Martin said, "The vial stops here. Tests on mages with admitted blood connection were used to mark where the vials would stop depending on the relation." The Tranquil pointed to the far right end of the scroll to where the last mark on the paper lay. "Twin siblings repel one another the full meter away. Siblings stop here." He pointed to a mark about in the middle of the scroll and Rosa let out a breath as she realized that Tal's vial hadn't stopped there, but about half way back, indicating they were more distantly related than full siblings.

Reading from the notation that'd been closest to where Tal's vial stopped, the Tranquil said, "The spell indicates they are aunt and nephew, or uncle and niece."

Brycen scowled. "I was told they were siblings," he grumbled, sounding sour at the possibility that he might be wrong, even if he'd been right about them sharing blood.

"No tests were done on half-siblings," the Tranquil said as he performed the test again with the same result. "It is logical to assume a half-sibling would present similar results to this one as sharing only one parent would dilute the—"

"Half-siblings then," Brycen concluded impatiently with a wave of his hand. Glaring between Rosa and Tal, he sneered. "Filthy heathens," he muttered. "Have you anything to say now that your lie has been revealed?"

Rosa stared across the room at Tal and fought the burning sting of tears in her eyes, hardly hearing the Knight-Captain's words. She sucked in a wavering breath and spoke in elven. _"You didn't break. I'm proud of you."_

He gritted his teeth and sagged between the Templars holding him. _"Ar lath ma, asamalin."_

"No more of that filth," Brycen snapped and motioned at both sets of Templars. "Still refusing to confess?"

Clenching her fists, Rosa snarled at him. " _Fenedhis._ There is no shame in us sharing blood, no wrongdoing! There is no _legitimate_ reason you have to separate us!"

Tal spat on the floor in front of himself. "I did everything right. Everything. I never broke the rules. I pleased all my teachers. Did everything I was told. I even sang the Chant! What harm is there in me being in the same tower with my sister? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"You lied," Brycen replied curtly. "That is reason enough and rules are rules and they are in place for a reason."

 _Yes,_ Rosa thought, shaking with rage. _Because you Templars fear the day we will rise up against you and isolating us from kin and forbidding any bonds ensures we won't revolt when you unfairly punish someone._

"But rest assured," Brycen went on. "Now that we know the truth, no harm will come to you. We will simply do what should have been done from the start when you were first brought to the tower."

Brycen watched absently as the Tranquil, Martin, began packing up everything. "I think it will be safest to send the boy away and keep you," he said, glancing to Rosa. "You are far more likely to do something foolish en route and get yourself killed."

"Where will you take him?" Rosa asked, shouting as she struggled against the Templars holding her again. "Please—just tell me that much!"

Tal looked to her, his eyes wet as he tried to smile, though it came out looking miserable. "We can write one another, _asamalin."_

Brycen eyed her a moment and then looked to Tal. "I think Ansburg would benefit from such an enterprising young mage, though Markham may be closer. About a week's journey." He let out a short, huffing breath. "Now, see, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Rosa had stopped hearing him as she took in Tal's bruised face, his bloodied lip, and vowed she would escape Hasmal and find him—even if it took the rest of her life. In elven she called to him, _"I will find you and we will endure. I will see you in the dreaming."_

The Templars holding her jostled her and Brycen glowered with disapproval. He motioned at the men holding Tal and said, "Take him out of my sight. Get him cleaned up and shipped out before lunch. The road to Ansburg is long and winding."

As they dragged Tal from her cell, Rosa shouted out in elven yet again, _"Ar lath ma, da'isamalin!"_ The Templar on her right cuffed her hard enough that she went lightheaded and dizzy, her knees trembling. Sucking in shaky breaths, her eyes flooded with tears and her chest constricted. Her heart ached as despair clutched at her. Through the hair plastered to her face by sweat and tears and blood she saw the blurry shape of the Tranquil and his red vials and felt rage twist her. She had let them have blood, let them weaken her connection to the Fade, in the vain hope that she could keep Tal.

But she'd failed. She'd miscalculated. She could still feel Rogathe pressing against the Veil, but it was weaker now, more distant. Her shoulders shook as she repressed sobs. The last time such anguish had threatened to overcome her, she'd been in shock after the bandits had nearly killed her and most of her clan. She drew up her mother's face in her memory, knowing it was very nearly a reflection of her own, and let that calm her breathing as she brought herself back under control again.

She heard the crunch of grit beneath armored boots and recoiled then as Brycen grabbed her by the hair, gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt unless she resisted. He tugged her head back and stared into her eyes with silent, cold disdain. "Never lie to us again. Do you understand me, little rabbit? Or I will crush you. Do you understand me?"

 _I have faced far worse than you,_ she thought. _I will face far worse again. And I will not break._

But she knew when to lie.

"Yes," she snarled, the lie as thick as blood in her mouth and just as putrid.

"Good," Brycen said and smiled coldly, releasing his grip on her. "I'm glad we understand one another." Turning to the cell door, he motioned at the two Templars holding her and the men released her. Rosa scrambled back against the wall, her hands curled into fists and shoulders heaving. The three Templars and the Tranquil left, closing the door behind them and leaving Rosa to her misery in the dark.

* * *

"Breathe in," Enchanter Varian said in a calm, soothing baritone. "Hold. And breathe out." The class exhaled as one, the sound like wind sighing through the trees. After a beat Varian said, "Now Breathe in. Hold. And breathe out." Again the class released its collective breath.

Solas sat in the back of the class, trying very hard not to feel an impotent rage scalding his skin at how _humiliating_ this was. He had taken such lessons as a child, an elfling half the age of the youngest students here. His goal even then had always been control before, not channeling mana, although not all young Elvhen children had been focused on control over mana. The techniques were familiar, but he had not tried them because he had never needed them before. He could see the wisdom in trying now, but the thought of it still was like sandpaper to his skin. Absolutely repulsive.

"Now," Varian said from the head of the class, where he sat cross-legged and with his hands resting on either knee. "I want you all to reach deep inside and visualize your core moving with you as you breathe. Hold on to that deep relaxation. Just feel the air flowing in and out of you…"

Solas did as instructed, though his irritation kept disturbing his attempts to relax. His pate was hot, burning with embarrassment, as though any minute the rest of the class would realize how truly absurd it was for a mage who'd been mistaken for a god—no matter how much he wished that weren't the case—to be in their midst. Then they'd all point and laugh at how pathetic he had become.

"Clear your minds," Varian said, as if he could read Solas' less than positive vibes. "Really embrace that peace inside you. It's there, inside all of us, if we dig deep enough. And when you find it, I want you to just let it sink into your core."

 _Embrace your inner peace,_ Solas thought and almost frowned, though he didn't because he was certain Varian was somehow watching them, even though every time he looked the enchanter did have his eyes shut. When was the last time he had truly been at peace? Not since childhood, and even then the shadow of Elvhenan's broken class system had loomed over him, a virtual monster he longed to slay.

Trying to be obedient, Solas wiped his mind clean and snatched the first thing that brought him peace: the Fade. He imagined his old friend Wisdom and heard her voice, soft with reassurance, rise out of his memory. Clinging to that, he visualized his core, that weak little bubble of mana at his center, hidden in his true self.

"Now, as you inhale, I want you all to imagine your core expanding with your lungs. And when you hold it, imagine your core keeps growing still. It doesn't shrink when you exhale."

Still feeling over his core, Solas followed the enchanter's instruction as he called out, "All right everyone: Inhale. Hold. Hold. Hold." Solas imagined his core inflating, expanding outward in a circular shape even as he reached full capacity with his lungs and simply held his breath. And, in that final second of holding his breath, Solas felt a pleasurable rush, tingling throughout his body. He swayed slightly in place, one arm shooting out to catch himself as he let out his breath early with shock.

"And…exhale," Varian said from the front of the class, but his eyes had shot open as he reacted to the small disturbance Solas had created. Several other students, most of them about ten years old or so, also peeked at him. Solas immediately erupted in a hot sweat and frowned with humiliation. The last thing he needed was anyone _looking_ at him while he took part in the course.

But… _it had worked!_ He could feel over his core and it had grown. The pleasurable sensation was much like a muscle stretching as new mana poured in. it was a modest growth but probably far more than any of the other students had experienced.

"You okay back there, old timer?" Varian asked jokingly. He was, visually, about Solas' age.

Even through his embarrassment, Solas couldn't help but chuckle. _Old timer._ "I am fine."

"Did you fall asleep or did you have some positive results?" Varian asked.

"I believe I fell asleep," Solas lied, preferring not to divulge the success. Plus, falling asleep would explain why he was blushing so fiercely. The students chuckled at his expense and Varian laughed.

"That's all right. Our cores are like muscles. They're part of the body and the body needs sleep. When it has everything it needs, it works best. So, we give it what it needs. Just…try to stay awake more often than not, okay?"

"Of course," Solas replied and forced himself to smile. A child off to his right giggled, grinning at him and although Solas wanted to ignore the little boy, he found his smile became real as he saw no sign of disdain or derision in the boy's expression. He was merely amused. _This world does not view weakness in magic as weakness in character or intelligence,_ he reminded himself. As much as he hated this course, it was what he needed, apparently.

Stroking his slightly expanded core, he closed his eyes and smiled to himself as the class settled once more.

"All right," Varian said, "Beginning again. Inhale…"

After the novice class with Enchanter Varian, Solas walked to lunch with Adwen, though he kept searching for Tal and Rosa—but there was no sign of them. He began to feel a knot of worry worming inside him, but it bloomed into full apprehension as he sat across from Varric and there was no sign of the Dalish siblings. The sinking weight of realization smashed into him.

_The Formless One has exacted its punishment._

"Where are Stoic and Violet?" Varric asked as he munched on his sandwich.

"I am unsure," Solas replied.

"Huh," Varric said, brushing his fingers over his chin with a worried look. "I hope they're okay."

"As do I," Solas said with a somber nod.

After eating he returned with Adwen but split from him at the sixth level, heading for the northwest corner where Rosa had said her room was. He passed female mages, elven and human alike; trotting through the halls, some alive and bright with purpose while others trudged about sluggishly with scowls on their faces. He passed a female Templar patrolling the halls, looking bored. At this time of day men were a common sight in the all-female section of the mage levels, just as women were common in the men's areas. It wouldn't be until near lights-out that Solas' presence here would attract disapproving stares and possible disciplinary action.

Nothing seemed amiss, and yet there was a certain charge to the air. Something was…off. The hall seemed too hushed, as though the mages here walked on eggshells around a sleeping dragon.

When he reached Rosa's room and pushed open the door he saw four beds, two of which were unmade and one was occupied. It took him a beat to realize that the woman in the bed to the right of the door was actually Rosa. With her hair loose and messy, he hadn't been able to clearly see her ear tips and she had turned toward the wall, facing away from him. A human woman sat at a small desk opposite the door, where the wall curved and there was a small porthole window cracked to allow in a chilled breeze. Solas could smell autumn leaves on it.

"Rosa?" he called softly, taking a tentative step inside. "Are you well?"

The human woman shook her head at him. "The Templars came and took her away last night. Apparently someone claimed the other elf boy, the nice one with the tattoos, was her brother." She added the last in a whisper. "They interrogated her for hours, I guess, and now—"

Rosa sat up suddenly on the bed, twisting round to look at him. Her eyes were red rimmed and hollow, but dry. "They sent Tal away. To Ansburg."

" _Was_ he your brother?" the human woman asked. "You never answered me when I asked."

Rosa ignored the woman, her eyes still glued to Solas. In elven she said, _"They took my blood. For magic. To prove we were kin. I couldn't stop it…"_

Solas moved to sit with her on the bed, reaching for her. She buried her head in his shoulder, her breath wheezing a touch too fast and Solas felt her tremble in his arms. He stroked her hair and laid his cheek on the top of her head. _"Ir abelas,_ " he said tenderly. "But there was nothing you could do. I'm sure he will be fine." In elven he added: _"You will see him again. I promise you."_

And he remembered that Zevanni was nearby; close enough now that she and her elven band could ambush a slow-moving caravan from Hasmal. But if he asked her to do that on Rosa's behalf it risked his agents' lives and it would surely draw some uncomfortable questions from the clever woman in his arms. And of course Tal would see their faces and ask who they were, how they had come to rescue him. There was also a chance, hopefully small, that in the chaos of an attack, Tal might be killed along with the Templars accompanying him.

Feeling Rosa's arms curl around him, clinging to him tightly as she continued to tremble, he felt pain stab at his heart and knew he couldn't keep silent. In a low voice and in elven, he said, _"I may be able to free him."_

* * *

Elven Used:

da'isamalin: little brother

ar lath ma, asamalin/isamalin: I love you, sister/brother

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You were immortal in Arlathan," she said, speaking the words quietly against his chest. "Before the _shemlen_ came."

Shock made Solas blink into the darkness of her room, glad that Rosa wasn't watching his expression. _She does not know about the Veil._ Heart racing now as much with arousal as tension, Solas wrapped his arms around her and forced himself to breathe deeply, to hide his shock. "We were, yes."

* * *

Author note: In case it isn't clear, I adore the sibling dynamic. It shows up repeatedly in my stories, both fanfiction and when I write original stuff. I don't have any brothers, all sisters, so I feel like I often am creating and exploring the brother-sister dynamic because I never had it. And, obviously, I adore Tal. I hope you all do, too. I actually made a DnD character modeled after Tal, a wild-magic sorcerer. It's been hilarious!

The bit of news Solas received from Felassan will tell everyone when this is all happening, too. Like, as in, shit's getting real outside the tower, FYI. The Orlesian civil war is going full force!


	24. The Dread Wolf in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is not offensive. Awkward, doomed, or ill-timed, perhaps, but not offensive." –Felassan (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas concocts a plan to use his agent Zevanni to rescue Tal from the Templars. He also realizes he's fallen in love. Rosa briefly seeks out another Dreamer, her mentor, to see if he can help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit spicy...not full on NSFW sexy times, but pushing the boundary...

" _I may be able to free him."_

Solas' words seemed to strike Rosa like lightning. She sat up, pulling back to stare wide-eyed at him, lips parted. Then, suddenly, she scrambled from her bed and faced the other woman in the room, sitting at the desk by the window. "You need to leave, Autumn."

"What?" asked the human woman, apparently named Autumn. "Why?"

"Just go," Rosa growled at her. "Go and I will smuggle you wine later from the kitchens."

Autumn arched an eyebrow as she glanced between Solas sitting on the bed and Rosa standing before her, straight-backed and tense, almost shaking with barely restrained energy. The young woman must have been the nosy type because she hesitated even with Rosa's bribe and instead flashed a lascivious smile. "Comfort bang?" she asked.

Solas opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it, snapping it shut once more. He examined his fingernails, determined to let Rosa deal with her roommate in whatever way she thought was best. He could feel heat crawling up from his neck to his cheeks however and tried to put any hint of sex out of his mind. That was most definitely _not_ happening. 

"If I say yes, will you leave?" Rosa asked irritably, one hand clutching at her hipbone.

Autumn smirked. "Only if that wine you mentioned is still on the table."

"You're awful," Rosa said with a sigh. "Fine. I'll get you the wine if you leave me and S—Revas alone for at least the next hour. Deal?"

Autumn grinned and rose from her spot at the desk. "Deal." She sauntered toward the door, swaying her hips in a ridiculous sashay. As she neared the door, passing Solas, she waved her hand salaciously and winked at him. Now Solas frowned his disapproval, fidgeting slightly in his spot on the bed as he fought that annoying blush still creeping up from his neck. Then, thankfully, Rosa slammed the door shut behind Autumn and groaned as she leaned on it and engaged the lock.

"That won't keep Templars out—the bastards—but my other two roommates could come by and they'll know better than to make a fuss, I think." She let out a long huff, shoulders and head drooping. "Everyone is sleeping with each other around this place and the Templars just don't care unless someone reports it. _Then_ they swoop down and punish everyone." She scoffed. "Ridiculous."

"I have heard similar things from one of my roommates," Solas hedged and then cleared his throat. "But I suspect you have something very different on your mind than what she suggested."

Rosa's head snapped up and she looked at him, her violet eyes narrowing with focus as she spoke in elven. _"You can free Tal? How?"_

Pinching his lips together, Solas said, _"I have friends outside the tower. Others like myself who have recently woken."_

Her eyes widened and in the grayish light from the window her skin looked washed out and sickly suddenly. "How many?" she asked and her voice was wary.

Perturbed by her reaction, Solas cocked his head to one side and regarded her with a bemused look for a moment before answering. _"Precious few. A handful. We knew one another before the fall of Arlathan and served Mythal together. Our sleeping chambers were scattered across Thedas. We have remained in contact through the dreaming."_ He paused, still troubled by her paleness and the way her shoulders had begun to hunch. What was she feeling? How was this news affecting her? Was it anger he saw, tension, or…fear?

" _One of these friends of yours can help Tal?"_ she asked and then she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, her posture finally revealing something he could read with confidence: suspicion and fear. "At what cost?"

Now it was Solas' turn to frown. _"The only expectation I have is for secrecy. I have no desire to see you or Tal trapped in a Circle for the remainder of your lives."_ He motioned angrily at the room around them. _"This is no way to live. I am fond of Tal, just as I am fond of you and if my friend agrees to help, I see no reason not to act—unless you or Tal do not wish it."_

Rosa shook her head; jaw clenching. _"There's always a price. Always."_

Sighing, Solas said, _"Tal does not know of my true origins. I ask only that you not reveal to him that I arranged this. My friend travels with Dalish hunters and warriors. I will ensure they all appear Dalish. As far as the Templars and Tal will be concerned, this will appear as though the Dalish took action to reclaim one of their own."_

Rosa began to pace the length of the room back and forth, like a caged animal. _"That will endanger the clans in the area. There could be attacks by Templars seeking revenge."_

Solas nodded sadly, reverting to common. "That is true and unavoidable."

"And what about after?" she asked, still pacing frantically, shooting him quick, nervous glances.

" _My friend can escort your brother to a clan nearby. If they are in need of a First or Second, he could settle there indefinitely."_ Solas smiled, hoping to reassure her. _"You and Tal_ were _seeking a clan in the Free Marches, yes?"_

She stopped and looked at him, taken aback. Her brow knit and her mouth hung open. "What?"

"You told the First Enchanter and the Templars that you and Tal were seeking a new clan in the Free Marches when you were first captured," Solas patiently explained, smiling with dry humor as he wondered if that had actually been a lie all along. Thinking on it a moment later he chuckled. _"I suppose that was not true. You could hardly join a clan while Rogathe still possessed you."_ He shifted on the bed, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. _"What were you truly doing when you were captured, Rosa?"_

Her mouth worked the air for several moments and then she frowned and waved a hand dismissively at him. "We _were_ looking for a clan in the Free Marches. Clan Lavellan, specifically. In the last Arlathvhen, when I first met Tal, I overheard their Keeper seeking a gifted child to be her First. She even got wind of Tal and approached his clan's Keeper and asked after him, but that _asshole_ said no. He wouldn't let Tal go."

"You could not have joined a new clan," Solas reminded her quietly, sharp and to the point. "Not with Rogathe."

"I wanted to get Tal to them," Rosa said, her voice darkening now with anger. "I wanted to make sure he was safe. He left his mother and everything behind _voluntarily_ to journey with me. I had to do right by him. I _still_ have to do right by him."

She _still_ hadn't answered the question.

Rising from the bed, Solas walked to her and slowly, as if approaching a panicked animal that might bite him if startled, he laid his hands over her shoulders. She avoided his stare, her lips pinched into a hard line and her jaw clenched, as if she hoped to trap all the words she might say deep inside her where they could never escape. Solas slid his hands to her neck and cupped her cheeks, turning her to gaze up at him.

"If you do not wish to discuss it," he said softly. "Then there is no need."

Her violet eyes flicked over his face, searching, and then she sighed. "You deserve to know." Leaning in close to him, she rested her forehead to his chin and drew in a deep breath. _"I was the reason we were caught by Templars."_

"You and Tal?" Solas elaborated. There'd been _something_ in her tone, almost guilt…

"No," she said and shook her head, her forehead rubbing over his chin. "All of us. Me. Tal. And you."

Now shock slapped him, making him tense and withdraw from her, his brow furrowed with confusion and suspicion. "Explain."

Rosa's head and shoulders drooped. _"With Rogathe inside me, powerful relics like your foci stood out like beacons. I could feel them if I was within a few miles. I was hoping to leave Tal with a new clan, but I knew they'd never take me in while Rogathe was inside me. I…"_

She broke off, wringing her hands. _"I heard from my...from someone that there might be some ancient artifact that could draw Rogathe out of me. He even suggested I search the Free Marches, because it was close to Tevinter but still safer for an elf. That was why I chose clan Lavellan. But when I felt something near Hasmal, I didn't know where it was coming from, just somewhere underground. We wandered into a_ shemlen _village to ask around and trade, but they eventually just attacked us. That's why the Templars came after Tal and I."_ She sniffed and shrugged her shoulders. _"We should have fled, but instead I insisted we stay in the area and keep looking. We thought we could evade the Templars in the woods and still find the ruins. But…we couldn't. And if we hadn't stuck around…"_

"The Templars would not have found me," Solas concluded, grunting with surprise. There was something missing in the tale, he suspected. She was holding back. But he let it pass, shaking his head as he chuckled. "I would be a fool to blame you, lethallan. You did not intend me to be captured. However, I am grateful things happened as they did. Without the Templars I may have simply perished."

Now she lifted her head and smiled warmly at him. "No, you're too resilient for that. Not to mention stubborn."

Solas returned her smile. "Very true, lethallan." Then, clearing his throat, he spoke again in elven. _"You have not told me if you'd like me to ask my friend to aid Tal?"_

Rosa swallowed hard, fidgeting anxiously. _"There truly is no cost other than secrecy?"_

" _No,"_ Solas said, his voice firm. _"I am not the Formless One. I am no monster seeking to trick you."_ He cut himself off, a wave of cold passing over him at how close he was to saying something incriminating. " _I am…"_ he flashed a sad smile. _"Just an old veteran of a war most have long since forgotten."_

Rosa scowled and her gaze dropped to the floor and muttered under her breath, "Not everyone's forgotten. That's the real problem."

Solas' heart pummeled the inside of his rib cage in a sudden flurry of horror and tension. He stared at Rosa, scrutinizing her anew for the second time in this conversation. _What do you know?_ As she looked back up at him, Solas cleared his expression into a blank look, aiming for confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

She drew in a breath, holding it for a heartbeat, and then let it out in a rush. Shaking her head, she said, "Nothing." Switching to elven, she said, _"But if your friend is willing, I will gladly accept the help. Perhaps someday I can give something back in return."_ Her smile was somehow both tender and sad, chipping away at the cold fear still gripping him.

"I will ask her tonight," Solas replied with a cordial nod, even as his mind still spun with her earlier comment.

"Thank you," Rosa said then, stepping up to him and extending her forearm as she had when he'd still had difficulty walking. "I'll walk you to your next class. And if we see Autumn we can wink at her and I'll tell her it was the best quickie sex of my life."

Solas spluttered at that, unsure what to say and feeling the blush return as they headed for the door to her room. But the moment of awkwardness left him swiftly as the perfect retort leapt to his tongue.

He laid his hand over hers when she reached for the door latch and leaned close to murmur, "I should hope for the honor of one day changing that falsehood into a true statement." He paused a moment to enjoy her reaction, seeing the red spread over her cheeks, her lips parting slightly and her eyes dilating. "Although, it is my belief that such things should never be done _too_ quickly."

"Is that so?" she asked, purring out the words.

Rather than answer, Solas kissed her. Rosa responded at once, turning more into him and pressing close as her hands gripped his waist. Solas steered her to the closed door; nipping and sucking at her lips until she opened to him, letting him taste her more deeply. Their breaths were fast and shallow, interspersed with wet gasps snatched between sloppy kisses.

Her hands undid the first button high at his throat and the first flick of her fingers against the base of his neck was like lightning licking his skin and drew a strangled moan from his lips. When she arched her hips into him, Solas' mind went fuzzy and hot with want, obliterating any thought he'd had for slow seduction and long exchanges of pleasure. It had been literal ages since he had felt another's hands on his body or tasted a partner's skin, and those were not needs he could fulfill with fantasy and his own hand or even the Fade. This was _connection_ and he craved it like a starving man desiring food.

Determined to feel her bare skin all over, his hands found the belt and brushed clumsily over it only to become distracted by the curve of her slender waist. He traced down from her ribs, feeling the way her body narrowed and then flared out again into healthy, full hips. Exploring high with one hand and low with the other, he cupped her breast through the thin, silken fabric of her robes and she moaned against his lips with appreciation.

Clutching him close, she fumbled at his waist, loosening his belt and trying to push aside the multiple layers of his robes. Her clever fingers bumped his arousal, making him gasp and finally breaking their wild, sloppy kiss. But it was only temporary as, still gasping, he nibbled at her jawline and neck, almost growling with satisfaction when she shuddered and moaned. _Fenedhis,_ how thrilling it was to make her melt in his arms.

With a feral grin, Rosa hooked her leg around his hip and Solas noticed with distant amusement that she was barefooted. The motion made her robes hike up unevenly and, eager to touch her skin, Solas gripped her knee at his hip and slid his hand upward under the fabric along the outside of her thigh. Rosa gasped and curled closer to him, grinding her hips to his. Her hands grabbed greedily at his waist beneath the fabric of his robe, still seeking bare skin of her own.

Solas kissed and nibbled his way down her jaw to her ear and mouthed it. She moaned in response, breathy and deep, and the sound seemed to set him aflame. He could almost feel the frantic pounding of her heart through his lips wherever they touched. This was fast heading in a direction that both terrified and thrilled him as his hand high on her thigh teased inward toward her sex. She seemed to writhe, breathing fast and grinding against him, eager and willing.

A mixture of instincts, experience, and desire warred inside him. She was mortal and so young. On that basis alone he should hold back, but there was so much more. He was misleading her, even using her to his own ends—escaping the tower. Even the timing of this liaison was suspect in that Rosa had been so certain he would have a price for his aid. What if this was her idea of repayment? And yet, at the same time, he could not quite convince himself that she did not want this as much as he. Mortal and young though she was, he had no question that she understood herself in mind, spirit, and body. And although he _was_ misleading her, he knew without a doubt that she held plenty back from him as well. And they had both used one another in the hopes of escaping the tower to the point that it could no longer be called _using_ one another and had become _partnership_ instead. _Alliance._

Still, the thought that she could consider this repayment for his aid was enough to make him pause. Pulling back from her to stare into her face, he searched her. She gazed back, eyes dilated and lips parted with raw want. Her expression left little doubt, but Solas refused to leave any question. He had exchanged sexual favors at court before and quickly found the idea of sex under duress to be despicable.

" _Is this what you truly want?"_ he asked her, reverting back to elven without thinking about it.

She let out a low, throaty laugh. "Yes," she said and leaned her head against his to give him a quick kiss before breaking it again to speak. "Don't you?"

"Yes," he breathed, though guilt still stabbed at him. _She does not know the man she's so willing to share her body with is the Dread Wolf._

Apparently sensing his distress, Rosa let out a shaking breath and her hands rose to his shoulders, winding around his neck. "I went too fast for you," she guessed. "Again."

Solas was about to protest and reassure her but bit his own tongue with indecision as he remembered his new cardinal rule when interacting with her: _Do not correct her false assumptions._ The thought of either of them regretting what had passed between them was like a knife in the ribs, setting his chest aching with pain. Caution was the best way to do that, and avoidance of sex seemed wise—even though certain parts of his anatomy still throbbed with arousal and a baser part of himself would be cursing his honor for getting in the way.

She sighed and shifted, making Solas release his hold on her thigh. Her foot slapped back to the floor with the clap of bare flesh striking stone. Solas' hand felt awkward and empty without the warmth of her thigh and already he felt heat licking at his face with frustration and humiliation. He _wanted_ her so badly, but…

"You were immortal in Arlathan," she said, speaking the words quietly against his chest. "Before the _shemlen_ came."

Shock made Solas blink into the darkness of her room, glad that Rosa wasn't watching his expression. _She does not know about the Veil._ Heart racing now as much with arousal as tension, Solas wrapped his arms around her and forced himself to breathe deeply, to hide his shock. "We were, yes."

"You…" Her voice sounded strained with pain. She pushed him back from her slightly and Solas saw her face had creased with concern. "If you and I…"

Realizing that she feared sex with a mortal would render him mortal, Solas smiled and shook his head. This was one misconception he could not allow her to have. "No, Rosa. I am already mortal. It was only uthenera that sustained me through the ages. Now that I am awake, I will gradually age and die just as your people do."

Her brow furrowed and her hands on his chest wriggled, as if her fingers had grown restless. "You're sure?"

"I am certain." He smiled and took one of her hands in his own, squeezing it as he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. "I have had more than enough exposure to humans to ensure my quickening," he explained, lying. _It was not humans who robbed the People of immortality…_

"Then…" her gaze flicked to his hand holding hers and her lips quirked downward. "This must all be so strange for you. And then here I am, moving so fast." She let out a choked chuckle and then asked, "What was romance like, back in Arlathan?"

"As diverse as it is today, I imagine," Solas hedged, still smiling. At her expectant look, Solas licked his lips and forced himself to go on. "There were devoted couples who spent their lives together and there were short dalliances in search of physical satisfaction alone and everything between."

"And where do you fall in that range?" she asked with a smirk.

He frowned, the question at once making him grimace with discomfort. "I would prefer not to discuss it," he admitted cagily.

She nodded, though she didn't look very pleased. "Well," she said and cleared her throat. "You already know my history. My lover was one of the hunters who died defending our clan during the attack I showed you." Her gaze dropped toward the floor and grief creased her chin. "And now I'm here. With you. And…" She frowned as she disentangled herself from him and sidestepped away. "Maybe you're right and this is all going too fast—but we Dalish don't have much time for long courtship, I guess."

"Rosa," Solas called to her, shaking his head. "Please, I did not wish to discourage you. I wanted to be certain you did not feel coerced or that you owed me for aiding you."

She hesitated, eyeing him with a mixture of bafflement and wariness for a moment before she said, "Oh." Then, laughing nervously, she grinned. "Trust me, I wasn't feeling pressured." She broke off then, smirking. "So I wasn't going too fast for you?"

"No. My concern was that _I_ might have been…overeager." He shook his head, feeling the warm bloom of desire spread inside him again. Though, embarrassingly, his body had yet to give up on the chance that this encounter could still end in sex, a fact that left him with an uncomfortable lump beneath his robes. Still holding her hand in his, Solas debated pulling away to regain mastery over his body or pursuing seduction again now that he'd established there were no misunderstandings.

She laughed, her teeth and her eyes bright. "Then that makes two of us." She stepped closer to him and Solas' heart galloped again in his chest as any thought of denying himself this fled once more as she wound her arms around his neck again. "It's been two years since I felt anything like this," she whispered, staring up into his eyes, close enough that her lips could almost brush his. "I can't imagine how long it's been for you…"

He shut his eyes, his breath already too fast. "A _very_ long time," he admitted. She smelled of lilac and vanilla, utterly delicious. His stomach flip-flopped and his stubborn erection twitched when her body brushed against him. He nearly groaned. "Too long."

"In case you don't know, two years for a mortal is a _long_ time." Now she did brush her lips against his, light and teasing. "Maybe we can help each other, seeing as we have the same problem..."

Unable to hold back any longer, Solas kissed her, deep and passionate. Rosa's hands fisted at his chest, closing around the fabric of his robes and tugging him nearer. Solas acquiesced, pushing her to the wall just beside the closed door of her room.

He ground into her with his hips and she responded by arching her back to meet him with a low moan. Again she hiked a leg up to encircle his hips and Solas caught it with one hand and found bare skin by sliding his fingers beneath her robes. His other hand worked over the buttons down the middle of her robes, popping them open to reach inside.

As he managed slip a hand into her robe to caress down from her collarbone, one of Rosa's fists closed over his length and made him gasp and break the kiss as he let out a strangled moan. She nipped at his chin, her voice a sultry purr as she said, "Think my bed has room for two?"

Grinning at her, Solas kissed her again, breathless and deep, as his hand high on her thigh brushed teasingly under her smallclothes. She shuddered, her hips working against him, urging his touch toward her sex. The friction of her body pressed to his own was maddening—he had to have _more…_

Backing away from her, he let her leg drop with that satisfying clap of her bare foot against the stone again and instead clasped her hand tightly in his, intending to lead her to the bed. She lurched forward, catching him by the belt with her other hand and unclasping it completely. Solas wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close for another deep, sloppy kiss where they stood beside her bed now. His fingers popped open more buttons at her front and then fell to her belt as he felt her work her hands under the outer robe he wore, pushing it off his shoulders.

And then the door clanged against the lock, making them both gasp and look to it, hearts pounding for an entirely different reason now. A voice called from the other side, "Rosa? Miss Rosa? Are you in there?"

"Adwen," Rosa said under her breath and let out a quiet groan as she pressed her face to Solas' chest. _"Fenedhis."_

Solas swallowed, still breathing hard and fast. He shook his head, as if that would help clear the fog of arousal. "Perhaps he will leave…" his voice sounded strained and hoarse.

"Miss Rosa?" Adwen called again and shook the door a bit harder. "Are you in there? Are you all right? I simply _must_ speak with you…"

Rosa groaned again and pulled away from Solas to shout at the door. "I'm here, Adwen. I'm fine." She frowned, her voice dropping into an irritated growl. "Just fine."

"Oh," Adwen said, sounding immensely relieved. "I'm _so_ glad you're there."

Sensing the opportunity had been lost, Solas knelt quickly and picked up his outer robe, shrugging it on and then retrieving his belt. Adwen had seemed less than friendly toward Rosa and Solas wouldn't be surprised if he might report their relationship to the Templars. Safety trumped sex—though it was a close thing. He summoned cold and channeled it internally to rapidly chill away his arousal.

Seeing him dressing and sensing his use of magic, Rosa cursed again under her breath and reached for him, shaking her head. "Please—don't go. I'll try to—"

The door rattled again. "Can you open this? Please? I need to ask you about Tal."

Solas laid a hand over her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. "Adwen has warned me against you," he cautioned her in a whisper. "He cannot know I am here, for both our sakes. He could report us."

She nodded, though her expression was one of pain. Pressing close again, she kissed him and Solas returned it, unable to keep himself from roving his hands over her appreciatively one last time. At the door Adwen called out again: "Hello? Rosa?"

Breaking their kiss, Solas motioned at the door. "Greet him and I will sneak out as you did from the privy last night."

She nodded, though she muttered, "I'm going to _kill_ him…" Quickly adjusting her belt and buttoning her front, she whipped around and reached for the door. She shouted, "Just a sec, Adwen…"

Reaching inward, Solas inhaled deeply as he drew the mana for the stealth spell and let it settle over himself. Rosa unlocked the door, glancing over her shoulder to be certain Solas wasn't visible before she opened it to admit the frazzled looking Adwen. The other elf burst into her room, two hands buried in his reddish hair. "Is it true?" he demanded of Rosa in a shrill voice. "Is it true _you_ are Tal's sister and the Templars sent _him_ away to Ansburg?"

Rosa heaved a long sigh, a mixture of anger and grief twisting her features. "Yes," she said. "It's true."

"They should have sent _you_ away," Adwen growled. "Why _Tal?"_

Invisible, Solas slipped around Adwen, pausing in the doorway to scowl with frustration that he couldn't rise to Rosa's defense and chide Adwen for being so rude and insensitive. But of course a heartbeat later Rosa proved full well she could fend for herself as she retorted, "I'm _sure_ it was because they wanted to torment _you_ , Adwen—you prick."

Smirking at her response, Solas passed into the hall, bustling with mages, and saw a few perplexed looks sent his way as a few of them sensed his presence or his magic but saw nothing and kept walking. At the nearest privy, which was thankfully unoccupied, Solas slipped in and let the spell fade. The sight of the tubs, both of which had steaming water in them for use by the mages, made him hesitate as he considered indulging himself with a bath but decided against it. If he took a bath it should be in one of the four privies located on his specific level of the tower, not Rosa's.

Scrubbing at his face with frustration, he left the privy and headed for the nearest stairwell.

* * *

Dinner that evening was subdued as Varric learned that Tal was gone and offered his condolences. "Damn. I'm sorry, Violet. It's just not fair what they do here in the Circle. You know, Hawke had a sister in the Kirkwall Circle. Seeing the Templars take her away was awful." He let out a long sigh, his head sagging as he poked despondently at the breaded fish on his tray. "But," he went on after a moment, brightening somewhat, "for what it's worth, you've got a great brother."

"Thank you, Varric," she murmured, smiling half-heartedly.

"I kinda guessed the two of you were more than just travel buddies," the dwarf added with a quiet chuckle. "But—I swear to the Maker—I'd never report it. If I get wind of who did though, I'll let you know. And you never know, I could try to convince the Seeker to overturn the Knight-Captain's orders…"

Now Rosa shot a swift glance at Solas before she shook her head. "No, Varric. I don't think she would agree to something like that. She likes rules, right? And Tal and I being in the same tower together breaks a big one." Her shoulders slumped.

" _Ir abelas,"_ Solas told her in a soft voice. "Master Tethras is right, however, that your brother is a fine young man. I will miss him dearly as well."

She nodded and then, drawing in a deep breath, grabbed her glass and took a long swig from it. As she set it back down she smiled wanly at him and Varric. "At least I can take comfort knowing that wherever Tal goes, he makes friends. He makes himself a home." Her violet eyes shone bittersweet with love. "I'm proud of him and proud he's my brother."

"For what it's worth, I envy you," Varric said with a dry smile. "My brother was a prick who left me and Hawke for dead so he wouldn't have to split his earnings with us." He scoffed and shook his head. "Still…it hurt when he died. But it's good to know there are brothers out there like Tal."

Rosa's smile at his words was thin with sadness, but her eyes were soft with affection. "Thank you, Varric," she said again. "I wish you had had a brother like mine."

"Me too, Violet," he said with a grunt, unscrewing the cap on his flask to drink deeply from it. "Me too."

After dinner had concluded Solas walked with Rosa out of the dining hall, close enough to touch but not daring to do so. The hubbub of the other mages was a dull roar around them, distant and yet overwhelming at once. Solas' hands were sweaty and his fingers twitchy, ready to drape a casual arm around her waist, but holding back with the sense of gloom over them with Tal's absence and the threat of Templars watching.

Then, ahead of them, a Templar shouted at a pair of mages who'd been walking close together, holding hands. "No fraternization, you hear?" He grabbed the woman and dragged her away from the man, then slapped her rump when he shoved her along. She yelped, her face red with indignation and anger.

Her partner yelled, "Keep your hands off her, filth!"

The Templar snarled back, "Watch your tone, mage!"

The flow of mages out of the dining hall came to a halt as those nearby stopped to gawk and glare. The crowd muttered with disapproval and disgust. In the air around them Solas felt the tingle of magic, building in intensity. The other Templar standing duty sensed it too and said, "All right! Get a move on, you lot!"

The man hurried down the hall to his partner. The other mages, their postures stiff with outrage, walked past. Solas saw hands clenched and eyes narrowed with hate.

" _It's coming,"_ Rosa said at his side in elven, a tense look on her face. _"Rebellion."_

Solas nodded, his skin dimpling with gooseflesh. The word Rosa had used in elven was _mien'harel,_ meaning a violent call for justice through rebellion. In the right context, and pre-Veil, _Fen'Harel_ was not the Dread Wolf, but the Wolf of Rebellion. A rebel god and not a trickster. But this tower's rebellion whenever it came would be as much Rosa's doing as his own, perhaps more.

" _Mien'harel,_ " he agreed somberly.

" _I won't be visiting you tonight in the dreaming,"_ Rosa told him, still speaking quietly in elven. _"I need to talk to Tal, make sure he's all right."_ She broke off, frowning as she swallowed, her throat bobbing. _"And I need to…scope out the phylacteries."_ She had no word in elven for _phylactery_ and improvised with several words strung together that made Solas scowl, confused for a moment before he nodded with understanding.

" _To truly be free, we must destroy them,"_ he agreed and then said, _"Let me help you."_

She nodded. "Okay."

Something in her expression and her voice told Solas she was hiding some detail, holding back. He wanted to question her, challenge her, but quashed it as they neared the sixth level where Rosa would leave him for her room. "Good night," he told her softly and, heedless of who might be watching, caught her hand and gave it a swift squeeze. " _Dareth shiral."_

She smiled back at him, also squeezing his hand. _"Dareth shiral,_ flat-ear."

He chuckled as she turned away and left the stairs. As he made his way up the final stairs to the seventh level where his own shared chambers were, surrounded by a handful of other mages, Solas could not deny the frightening and thrilling affection inside his chest. It was more than just carnal longing or mere fondness. It made him light where it bubbled deep within, blasting away the anxiety of whatever lay ahead. It was an emotion he had not permitted himself to feel once he left the wilderness for Arlathan for fear it would be used against him. As Dread Wolf he could never grow close enough to another to let it ignite inside him, but here in Hasmal he'd become Revas—and Revas was vulnerable.

Somewhere and somehow during his time in this confounded Circle tower, Solas had let himself fall in love.

* * *

"So," Zevanni said when he had explained to her the situation with Tal. "This is not an order. I can turn you down?"

Solas nodded. "I will not ask you and your agents to put yourselves at risk if you disagree. But I see potential in both Dalish siblings. They may yet serve."

"But this kid can't know you sent me and my people?" Zevanni asked, arching her brow. As Solas nodded again she chuckled. "I'm going to have to paint vallaslin on my face." She rolled her shoulders in their sockets, chewing her lip as she considered it. "Var and I will wear Mythal's marks."

"The boy wears Mythal's vallaslin as well," Solas told her.

Now Zevanni grinned and knowing her as he did, Solas didn't miss the lascivious look to it. "Can you show him to me?"

Shooting her a sour stare, Solas said, "Is that truly necessary for you to come to a decision?" Zevanni had been anything but picky about who she took to bed, using sex as a stress reliever. Solas had taken advantage of that trait of hers often enough in a mutual slaking of lust, but they'd never had an emotional attachment beyond friendship. Zevanni was trustworthy and obedient, which made her a safe sex partner—that was all either of them could afford in Elvhenan during the rebellion.

She shrugged. "If you want me to recognize him, yeah."

Solas resisted the desire to roll his eyes—but only just barely. "He will be the only elven man wearing vallaslin in the caravan," he told her flatly. "He will not be difficult to recognize."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm just curious, _hahren._ If this kid is hands-off for me, just say so." She let her arms fall back to her sides as she smirked. "But, I could use a little break. Call it my price for helping out."

Sighing, Solas turned slightly and motioned at the Fade-ether swirling around them in the raw Fade, willing it to form Tal from his memory. In a heartbeat the young elven mage stood staring out at them, blinking innocently as Zevanni strode toward him, circling like a shark. She stopped in front of him, leaning close to his face with narrowed eyes. Then she grunted, as if impressed. "He looks Elvhen."

"He does," Solas hedged. "Yes. Some Dalish apparently have preserved the look of the People better than others."

Zevanni shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at Solas, brow furrowed with bemusement. "It's…uncanny. He looks like you. He looks like Var. And Felassan, especially because of the vallaslin."

She put a finger to her lips, contemplating. "But you know what he really looks like? One of Falon'Din's courtier-spies, those sick fucks." She snatched the Fade-construct Tal's chin and swiveled his head to the right and left, then up and down as she scrutinized him. "What in the great Beyond have you found in that tower of yours, _hahren?"_

"I told you," Solas said, a little irritation leeching into his voice. "He merely appears more Elvhen than others." Shifting slightly from foot to foot in the loose sand and puddles of the raw Fade, Solas added, "I have thought he resembled Mythal's sons and grandsons more than Falon'Din's progeny."

"Falon'Din's _progeny_ infiltrated everywhere prior to the civil war," Zevanni reminded him. "Plenty of Mythal's children had children with Falon'Din's."

Zevanni was younger than Solas, having missed the Evanuris civil war, but she had functioned as a spy for Solas during the rebellion and knew of Falon'Din's wretched ways more than anyone now living. The courtier-spies she'd mentioned had been the Arlathan equivalent to Orlesian bards, assassins and spies who doubled as storytellers and singers.

Solas debated revealing what he knew—and suspected—of Rosa and Tal's hidden identity but decided against it. That terrifying, thrilling emotion in his chest quailed at the thought of betraying Rosa's confidence even to his trusted agent. What did it matter, truly? Such holdovers from the past were likely more common than he or any of his agents had ever expected. Mythal, Falon'Din, Elgar'nan, Sylaise, Dirthamen, and June had had dozens of children each in their long lives, and those children had countless offspring of their own. It was highly likely that Rosa and Tal and all the shem-elves of modern Thedas could trace their heritage back to those Evanuris. Only Rosa's knowledge and descent from Ivun truly set her apart.

That and the Formless One's interest in her blood.

"Will you help free him or not?" Solas pressed, seeking her decision.

Zevanni stepped back from the Fade-construct of Tal and pivoted about to face Solas, a sly smile on her face. "Of course, _hahren._ You have me intrigued with this kid." She paused, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes. "You said I am to pretend to be Dalish and he's not to know you sent me, but is he off-limits?"

Now Solas did roll his eyes. "I'll leave that up to Tal, but I suspect he will happily couple with you—or Var, for that matter."

Now Zevanni grinned. "Oh, so he's not picky, eh? Just my type."

Solas frowned. "Is there anything else?"

Zevanni sobered, leaning forward slightly. "Just one last thing. Can I needle him for information? It'll be a week or so to find a Dalish clan to take him in, temporary or permanent."

"What information do you hope to uncover?" Solas asked. "I doubt he will reveal to you anything he has not already told to me."

Zevanni wrinkled her nose. "There's something about him that bothers me." She turned her head to look again at the Fade-construct. "He's _too_ Elvhen, more than any Dalish man I've run into. I want to find out why—unless you disagree."

Now Solas let some of his tension ease. "You are welcome to do so, but treat him well. There is indeed something…interesting about the siblings. Tal is the more forthcoming of the two. You may have better luck than I, _falon._ "

Grinning, Zevanni dipped her head in a respectful nod. "Consider it done, _hahren._ My people and I are just outside of Hasmal now. We can catch the caravan in about two days I should think. If we can, we'll set a trap. Otherwise, we'll strike when it seems safest. We'll make it look like bandits so the Templars don't seek out the Dalish clans nearby for revenge. I'm guessing that in a little more than two weeks we'll have this kid tucked away safe in some Dalish clan and be on our way back to the Hasmal tower." She grinned with confidence. "Is that agreeable?"

"Indeed, _falon,"_ Solas told her, matching her smile with his own. " _Ma serannas."_

* * *

After meeting with Tal in her dreams, Rosa faced the green-gray Fade ether left after she had willed away her brother's sleeping consciousness. Tal had been in decent spirits despite his predicament. She'd seen him in a messy camp alongside a road, surrounded by trees whose leaves had changed into brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds.

"It's not so bad," he'd told her, smiling away. "I'm outside again _asamalin!_ Can you believe it?"

 _Oh Tal,_ she thought and felt heat building behind her eyes. She'd wanted so badly to tell him that Solas could come to his aid, but she couldn't make such promises until she learned what his friend had said tonight. But Tal had betrayed his fear when he once again asked her—no, _pleaded_ —with her to reach out to _him._

"He will listen to you this time," Tal insisted. "He'll feel your need for his help through the Fade and meet with you. I'm sure he could help. He might even be nearby!"

 _He did not answer when Rogathe possessed me,_ she thought, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Well, that wasn't true exactly. He _had_ come to her when she cried out to him in anguish, alone and aggrieved after she'd been banished from her clan. He'd come to her and embraced her in her dreams, reassuring her that he could help guide her into releasing Rogathe back to the Fade. But he was too far away physically. She needed to be strong, he said. She needed to be brave, because her journey would be far.

His voice from that dream two years ago still echoed in her mind: _"I will meet you halfway."_

Remembering his face—the pain in his violet eyes, the twist of his generous lips—made her shake with rage. She had _believed_ him, even as a bitter, resentful part of her thought: _You do not know me at all, do you? I have never been anything but strong and brave._ But she had quashed that part of her and marched halfway across Thedas to meet with him on the Storm Coast, at the border between Ferelden and Orlais.

And after spending a miserable winter there, calling to him in her dreams night after night, she could no longer deny the truth. He was not coming. At first she had wondered if he had perished on his journey to meet with her, but near springtime he finally reached out to her, drawing her into his dream. His apologies and vague excuses fell on deaf ears as she realized he had abandoned her again, left her for dead.

In a rage, Rosa had attacked him. He had winked out of her dream at once and she had set out on a new journey, determined to find her way on her own. Sometimes she had felt the tug of him in the Fade, calling to her, but she merely willed herself awake to avoid him. Never again, she thought, would she let _him_ be at her side. She'd cleave to Tal instead, the only family she had left. And, unlike _him_ , Tal had leapt at the chance to help her, even though knowing she carried Rogathe inside her had unnerved him.

Sweet, loving, trusting, and ever hopeful Tal. He'd pleaded with her countless times to reach out to _him_ , with one plan or another to force _his_ hand. Solas' orb had been a particularly promising lure, but Rosa had refused on principle at first and later…

She didn't need the orb and it wasn't hers to claim even if she could. It was Solas' and she wouldn't betray him. At least not until she was sure he posed a threat to herself and Tal. She wanted to trust him, to give in to the dangerous warmth of love that had grown within her and swelled her heart. She had so much to be grateful to him for. Solas had saved her _and_ Rogathe. He had helped her safeguard Tal and he had been there to watch over her during her Harrowing and her trial. She would return the favor in any way she could to help him escape the tower with his orb.

But Solas was too much like _him._ She had already gleaned from Solas that he had no intention of living a quiet life after escaping. He had plans. He had unknown allegiances to that distant, old world. He had _friends._ And Rosa knew that, just like _him_ , Solas would disappear once he was free.

Then it would be just her and Tal once more. That was fine, she thought. Knowing the danger would help her gird herself against it and help her enjoy what little time she had with him.

But all that was beside the point. She'd promised Tal she would try to speak with _him._

Staring into the Fade-ether, Rosa raised her voice, calling out at the top of her lungs: _"Ghilin!"_ Breathing hard, she spun about, the slick puddles underfoot splashing. Nothing had emerged yet. He could be far away or embedded deep in another's dream.

She pictured his face, the vallaslin he wore that she knew had been a gift from her mother. She heard his voice in her ears, instructing her how to manipulate the Fade, how to walk through others' dreams, and how to combat demons great and small that were drawn to her as a Dreamer like moths to flame. She saw his smile, heard his laugh, and felt the strong warmth of his arms embracing her. She sent all of it into the Fade along with her will: _Bring him to me._

This time she felt the Fade ripple, acquiescing. The mists shimmered off to her right and she whipped around to face that direction. The Fade darkened there as bits of his dream took shape: cold stone walls that might have been ancient ruins. And there he was, sitting hunched against some large gray-white stones. He raised his head and his expression was full of pain. _"Da'len,"_ he greeted her, and then, his voice cracking, he said, _"Ashalan."_

She snarled at him, still shaking with the rage of near-lifelong abandonment. "You don't get to call me that, _Eolas,"_ she growled his name, the one she knew he didn't like. "Just tell me quick—are you in the Free Marches?"

"The Free Marches?" he repeated, both eyebrows lifting with surprise. "What are you doing there?"

"Just answer me," she shouted, her voice shrill.

His brows drew together, his jaw clenching. "Are you in danger? Is Rogathe still within you?" His eyes shut and his voice took on a note of pleading. _"Please,_ I wanted to help you. I still—"

"Answer me," Rosa repeated, cutting him off with a growl. She could feel her pulse pounding in her head, her blood rushing in her ears.

His mouth snapped shut, but his violet eyes were heavy with grief. "I am not in the Free Marches, no. But I will come to you as soon as I can."

She let out a bitter, hard laugh. "Good. That's exactly what I expected. We knew you wouldn't be any help."

"We?" he repeated, an anxious look warping his face. "Rosa…"

"Tal is with me," she bit out and enjoyed the way he flinched. "Unlike _you_ , he helped me. He's been with me since you left me for dead on the fucking storm coast." She drew in a breath and heard how it quavered, matching her voice, but she couldn't stop. "Now I get to go tell him you've left him for dead too. He wouldn't give up on you—but I knew better and I was right."

He closed his eyes and lowered his head, his shoulders slumped and his face hollow. "You were right, _ashalan._ Does it bring you peace, I wonder?"

She glared at him, feeling nauseous with emotion. The backs of her eyes burned with tears, but she held them at bay through sheer force of will. "Don't call me that, _Eolas."_

He flinched at the name and Rosa relished the brief triumph she felt, knowing she had caused him a tiny fraction of the pain he had caused her. "I cannot change the past but I can try to right my wrongs—if you let me. I could not meet with you on the Storm Coast. _Ir abelas._ I wanted to. You were in my thoughts every day. But I can be in the Free Marches quickly."

"Not quick enough," she snapped. "But it doesn't matter. We don't need you. We never have, _Eolas."_ Feeling shaky, Rosa waved a hand at the Fade, willing him away before he could protest or make some kind of other entreaty. But she could still see him in the heartbeat before he vanished from the Fade—he looked as though she had slapped him across the face.

Alone again in the raw Fade, Rosa wrapped her arms around herself and sank to her knees, letting the moment of weakness overtake her as she sobbed.

* * *

Elven Used:

Ashalan: Daughter

Ghilin: Mentor/guide

Eolas: a name meaning "agent of knowledge."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Zevanni laughed, loud and breathless for a long time and Tal felt his face bloom with heat. "I like you," she announced when she'd finished laughing. "That's why I almost went into mana burnout trying to save your sorry ass after you fell out of that fucking tree. I'm not about to let you run back to Hasmal now."

Tal was silent a moment, brow knitting as he tried to process everything she'd just said. Finally he asked, "What tree?"

She laughed again, a little darker now this time. "Sadly I can't do anything to heal your head."

Tal did remember a tree now, faintly, but he pushed aside that memory in favor of something _way_ more important. "You like me?"

* * *

Original author's note:

A/N: Some of you will see certain...(small) things...in that last bit narrated by Rosa. At this point in writing I decided to begin revealing more, so you'll see Rosa's POV sneak in here more often. My beta had not guessed my biggest secret here (she still hasn't, I think, at chapter 29) so I figured it was time to begin to let slip some things.

The preview is from the chapter narrated by Tal, which, by popular demand, will indeed be uploaded! So, as you can see, that's next chapter!

I described this chapter once as Solas cock-blocking himself, but I honestly believe Solas is the type to overthink even in that scenario.

New notes (AO3): If you're confused about the part of my notes above that mentions a chapter narrated by Tal and popular demand, my readers on FFnet knew I had a chapter from Tal's perspective that my beta thought didn't need to be in the story. I decided to offer it as an optional thing to my FFnet readers, to poll them and see what they wanted to read. Pretty much everyone wanted the chapter, so it is canon and I will include it here, too.

And I am still curious here at AO3, who thinks they know Tal and Rosa's biggest secret. If you figure it out before it's explicitly revealed, maybe drop a line but don't spoil it, maybe? If you can avoid doing that, anyway. I did have a lot of false guesses by FFnet reviewers trying to guess Rosa and Tal's secret and in the end it still took them by surprise. But, yeah, just curious.

* * *


	25. Tal and the Marauders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, good, we're showing off esoteric magical talents. Can I go next?"—Felassan (Dragon Age The Masked Empire)
> 
> This chapter is narrated by Tal. On the way to another Circle, under escort by Templar jailers, Tal's caravan is attacked by some unusual elven bandits.

The sun was setting in a fiery display of pink, orange, and red over the hills to the west. Tal sat on the fully laden bronto-hauled cart with his legs dangling off the edge. He had stripped out of the flexible, thin leather shoes the Circle had provided for this journey and now wriggled his toes. Brownish dirt clung to his robes and his bare feet. His shaggy black hair was messy from the wind and bitter rain that had drenched them the night before.

Bored beyond what he could stand and struggling to keep his mind from wandering to Rosa and Revas and everyone he'd been forced to leave behind in the Hasmal tower, he started talking. Again, much to the Templars' annoyance.

"Hey, Martin?" he called out, twisting slightly to address the Tranquil man driving the brontos hauling the cart. This was the same Tranquil who'd administered the blood magic test on Tal and Rosa to prove they were kin. Tal knew the other man hadn't done it to cause harm and didn't resent him for it. How could he, after all, when Martin was now the only person he had to talk with?

"Yes, ser?" the Tranquil replied. The sound of the brontos' hooved toes crunching on the gravel of the road punctuated the otherwise calm evening.

"D'you want to hear about the time I put itchweed in my Keeper's breeches?" The Templar trailing the cart on horseback snorted and Tal grinned at the man, glad that _someone_ could appreciate his genius. Martin never would because he was Tranquil and the Templars wouldn't ever admit to enjoying his talking...though this one behind the cart did. But the other Templar flanking the cart despised him.

"If you wish to share the story, I will listen," Martin replied in monotone.

"Okay," Tal said and clapped his hands together. "My mother was the hearth keeper for the clan. That meant she did a lot of chores and cooking while others went hunting, scouted, or…" He shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, so the Keeper liked to make her do his laundry. And one day she was busy with preparing a big meal in celebration of a new birth in the clan and the Keeper came by with his clothes and expected her to wash them. She told him she wouldn't have time but he insisted."

"That does not sound reasonable," Martin said.

Tal smirked, laughing. "Nope. Not at all. I overheard all this and when the Keeper left I volunteered to do the washing and help her out. My mother was very grateful and I went off and got to work. I washed all the clothes she'd been given to clean, including most of the Keeper's shit. But when I was finished I rubbed itchweed into his breeches." He paused, enjoying the way the Templar on his horse a few meters out chuckled.

"This is a plant that causes skin irritation leading to itching?" Martin asked.

"Yep, you betcha," Tal said, snickering at the memory with glee. He saw the Templar behind him shake his helmeted head and felt a thrill of satisfaction. Getting the Templars to loosen up had been one of his many little goals on this journey. Others included getting his shoes off and figuring out what was inside the cart. He'd achieved both those goals today too. Soon, he was going to need to find something new to do. Setting goals helped alleviate his boredom. It also staved off his grief and anxiety.

"And what precautions did you take to prevent irritation occurring to your own skin when you administered the itchweed to this man's trousers?" Martin asked in his monotone. Oddly, his question seemed to make the Templar riding behind the cart laugh deep from his belly. Martin had no sense of humor, so he focused on details that no other listener would have. Sometimes that, ironically, created even funnier circumstances.

Tal smirked to himself. _Success._ That definitely counted as making a Templar laugh. "Well," he said, "I ground the itchweed into a powder firstly. So it was fine and soft, like flour."

"Soft?" Martin asked. "That does not seem likely to cause skin irritation."

Something pale moved in the dim, uneven illumination of twilight off in the hills behind their caravan. Tal frowned at it; momentarily distracted before he decided it hadn't been anything. They were traveling east for Ansburg, with the setting sun hitting their backs, but in his spot in the cart Tal faced backward. The landscape was filled with rolling hills dotted with large bushes and copses of trees, vaguely reminding Tal of the Dales where he'd spent most of his life until a little over a year ago. The only major difference was that it had fewer boulders and granite escarpments. It might also be a tad warmer.

Shaking his head, Tal returned to his story. "It's itchweed, Martin. The plant has some kind of nasty chemical inside that makes your skin welt up if you're exposed too much. Anyway, I used my hand liners. Those are tight-fitting waterproof gloves my people make out of animal bladders and leather."

Now the Templar made a noise of disgust. "Savages."

"Hey," Tal said, shrugging. "If it works, it works. And those things work. The leather keeps you warm and reinforces the bladder and together they keep the water out. We call them hand liners because we wear them under another bigger set of gloves in the winter to keep our hands warm."

The Templar sneered, the expression difficult to see in the gathering dark and with his helmet on. His horse tossed its head and grunted, shying sideways. The Templar jerked on the reins, bringing the animal more into the center of the road. Tal watched the horse, admiring it and restraining a sigh because it reminded him of halla—all liquid grace and muscle with doe-like eyes.

"The hand liners sound as though they would indeed protect your skin," Martin agreed.

"Yeah," Tal said, gesturing at the Tranquil. "See, he gets it." The Templar ignored him so Tal went on with his story. "The clothes were wet, so the itchweed powder stuck to them and got in there really good. I only did his breeches, though. A good prank is like an art, you know. It can't be overdone or it's just mean. Not that I wasn't just _mean_ to my Keeper sometimes—because he was a real prick and totally deserved it."

"Apologies," the Tranquil said. "I cannot agree. I do not have enough information to make that judgment."

Tal rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. He was, though." Something again drew his gaze in the hills behind them. Tal had a heartbeat to sense movement in the gathering gloom and register a pale shape darting between the darkness of the bushes. Many of the bushes had lost their foliage or had it turn to an ugly orange-brown. The movement made him think of halla, just as the Templar's horse did and his chest tightened, aching with loss.

Quashing his upset, Tal continued the story. "So I laid everything out to dry and the Keeper came by and thanked my mother for her hard work and collected everything. He got dressed just before the celebration meal and sat down with everyone to eat it and bless the baby and introduce her to the clan. And by the time he stood up to do the blessing he'd started scratching and fidgeting so badly he couldn't even keep going with it." Tal broke off, laughing at the memory of his Keeper wriggling about and frantically scratching at his legs and waist.

From up ahead Tal heard the lead Templar, who ranged back and forth as a scout, shouting that they would make camp here. Tal squinted off the road to his right where an open stretch of mostly flat grassland waited. There were circles of stones with ashes in the center marking where other travelers had stopped for the night to rest.

Martin clicked his tongue and jerked on the reins, directing the brontos off the road and into the brush. The cart shook and clattered, the crates onboard sliding under Tal's ass. He hopped off, feeling the chilled, dry grass underfoot with a little shiver of delight.

Although he hadn't minded living in the tower for the past month, Tal hadn't realized how intensely he'd also missed the outside world. The sigh of the wind through trees and grass, the smell of decaying fall leaves, and the caress of warm sunlight on his back managed to lift his spirits despite his circumstances. He tried not to think about how this _could_ be the last time he'd ever feel any of those things. Ever.

"Over here, boy," the Templar who'd rode behind the cart called, snapping his fingers impatiently. He held a set of metal manacles that they'd insisted on using on him each night when they camped. Tal sighed to himself and trotted over to let the Templar strap the manacles onto his wrists. They were hard, cold iron and engraved with runes to absorb and negate magic.

The scout rode in a wide circle around their campsite, checking for signs of wild animals or bandits. Martin busied himself by setting up tents. They were tannish in color and bore the symbol of the Templar order. The Templars slept in one tent while Martin and Tal were assigned to the other. Only two Templars would sleep at a time while the other two took watch. They patrolled by the road and through the clearing, watching and listening for any sign of trouble.

As full darkness settled and the air grew chillier, Martin lit a small fire. Tal offered to help, always eager to keep busy and fire was his affinity, but one of the Templars sitting nearby barked at him. "No magic!"

"Sorry," Tal said with a grimace. "Just trying to do something good with it, you know." Giving in to his desire to ramble for comfort, he said, "I used to light my mother's hearth fire for her every day. My father could do it too, but—"

"Maker's breath," the Templar sitting across the fire snarled. "Don't you _ever_ shut your blighting mouth, mage?"

Tal winced a second before shrugging. "Not really, no." Feeling his stomach twist with hunger, he added, "But the best way to shut me up is with food."

The Templar huffed irritably and called out to one of his compatriots. "Fetch the rations, Ser Luther."

"Yes, ser," the Templar named Luther replied and stalked over to the cart to dig through a large leather satchel. He returned a few moments later with loaves of bread and some dried venison. The Templar sitting at the fire took what Luther handed him and doled it out into portions. He passed Martin a loaf of bread and two strips of venison, keeping the same amount for himself. But he passed Tal only one piece of venison and half a loaf of bread.

"Can't I have the same as you and Martin?" Tal asked, keeping his voice light and friendly. "I mean, I walked most of the day while all of you rode…"

"Shut up and eat what you've been given or I'll take it from you," the Templar snapped and then, as Tal began chewing on his bread, he grumbled under his breath. "Skinny, noisy, Maker-cursed rabbit."

Tal bore the comments silently, letting the food keep his mouth busy and hoping the noise of his chewing would drown out the Templar's vitriol. His manacles clattered as he lifted his bound hands up and down from his lap to his mouth. The crackle of the fire drew his eyes and filled him with the heavy, faint fuzziness of nostalgia. He wondered what his mother was doing at this moment. Had she succumbed to the Keeper's proposals now that Tal was no longer there to put a wedge between them? Had his old hunting partner Sahon or the clan's First, Shila, gotten married yet?

Gradually everyone finished eating and the first two Templars scheduled to take watch left the fire to patrol. Their caravan was a small group, six in total: four Templars, the Tranquil Martin, and Tal himself. The journey was to take about a week, according to Martin. It would be faster if they had only horses, but the Knight-Commander had insisted they take brontos and a cart laden with goods for the Ansburg Circle.

Martin, who was by far the most responsive of Tal's current companions, told him that the Knight-Commander had owed supplies to Ansburg for some time. Hasmal was better situated on the highway and could receive goods from Orlais, Antiva, Nevarra, and even Tevinter far better than Ansburg. As such, everything from those places intended for Ansburg went through Hasmal and that had led to a pile up over time.

After learning that juicy detail, Tal had feigned an injury and took the liberty of making himself comfortable on the back of the cart rather than walking. The Templars hadn't been happy about it and called him lazy—never mind that Tal had walked the whole time while they rode. But, whatever. Tal didn't let their condescension ruin his good time of snooping through the contents of the cart to find crates of Antivan wine and Nevarran books on the arcane. Now, sitting beside the fire and feeling thirsty and unsatisfied by the bland bread and salty venison, Tal longed for some of that Antivan wine.

"I am fatigued," Martin announced after a long period of silence. "It is advisable for us both to sleep, Master Tal."

Fixated on the thought of that wine, Tal shook his head while covertly checking out where the two awake Templars currently were. One roamed out among the tall grasses of the meadow, scanning the brush in the distance. The other was near the road, surveying it for signs of activity. Night travelers were always cause for suspicion. The other two Templars were in their shared tent, sleeping until it would be time for their watch.

"Nah," Tal told the Tranquil. "I'm going to stay up with the fire a while. Too cold to sleep just yet."

"Our shared body heat will ensure we both remain warm," Martin pointed out blankly.

Tal shot the human an inquisitive look, one eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?" He laughed before he could stop himself. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Martin."

"I have no such desires," Martin told him in his usual deadpan. "Apologies if you misunderstood my meaning."

Tal sniggered, letting the laughter ease the tight knot of anxiety forming in his guts. "I didn't really," he admitted, hugging himself as the night's chill made him shiver a bit despite the fire. Martin had a point about shared body heat. Without Tal to help warm him, Martin might be a bit cold in his tent. But a glance at the unattended cart with its promise of wine made Tal's mouth water as he forgot entirely about the cold.

"I'll be in soon," he promised Martin.

The Tranquil rose from the fire and walked over to the tent he and Tal shared, then ducked inside and out of sight. With Martin gone, Tal breathed deeply, enjoying the wood smoke smell and recalling lessons with Rosa in his dreams and on the road. Tal had possessed several mentors to learn to control his magic—his father, his clan's First on occasion, Rosa, and then finally the mages at the Circle. As a result he knew a wide variety of odd spells and techniques. He'd taken to testing his manacles at night, subtly, after Martin retired and the Templars dispersed for watch. Tonight seemed as good a time as any to see if the manacles would smother Elvhen magic.

Drawing in a deep breath and concentrating, Tal summoned the stealth spell. It settled over him like a cloud and he shivered reflexively as he felt the manacles grow heavy and hot, reacting to the ambient magic of his spell. But it hadn't stopped the spell. That was _very_ promising. Tal's mind raced with the possibility that he might use this to try escaping, but he pushed that aside for now. He wouldn't act without conferring with Rosa first.

Unfortunately his use of the spell was rather crude. There were ways to trim back the ambient magic, but Tal hadn't had a chance to master them with Rosa's help yet. It left him exposed to anyone sensitive to magic that came near enough to sense it, yet Tal had been able to sneak about the tower with it easily enough. Why not out here? Grabbing a little wine would be a good test run.

Neither Templar on sentry had noticed his disappearing act, so Tal slowly rose to his feet and crept toward the cart. His time spent among the hunters of his clan, learning their trade as stealthy rogues, made him whisper-quiet as he edged around the fire and through tufts of grass that barely rustled at his passage. Soon he was beside the cart but the stealth spell made his arms and legs shaky, his head spinning. Ducking beneath the cart to hide, Tal let the spell fade and caught his breath with long, deep hauls of air through his lungs.

The cold night air sank in on him, wrapping around and through him with each breath. The sensation grounded him and let him refocus. Drawing the spell over himself again, Tal rolled as nimbly as he could out from under the cart. After a covert glance to the sentries, Tal lifted one corner of the tarp over the cart and slowly pried open one of the Antivan crates. The dark glass of the bottles within gleamed orange in the firelight as he fished around until he managed to close his fist over one.

 _Yes, yes, yes!_ With a final tug he freed it from the crate—only to hear the remaining bottles clink and clatter as they readjusted their positions inside. _Fenedhis!_ He thought and the cold grip of fear made him lose the stealth spell, becoming visible. The nearest Templar, the man guarding the road, was already charging over to investigate. "Get away from there, you filth!"

"Shit," Tal muttered and quickly ditched the bottle under the cart, hoping the Templar wouldn't notice it. Then he thrust his manacled hands up in the air and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, ser. I must have bumped the cart. Very sorry."

The Templar snarled at him as he drew nearer, his swaggering gait suggesting he planned to do Tal physical harm. Sputtering, Tal added, "I was just over here because I saw a _huge_ spider and I wanted to catch it so I could—"

There was a streak of orange light and the sharp sound of arrows cutting through the air. Tal gasped and immediately flung up a barrier, crouching low. He looked up as he heard the Templar who'd been barreling down on him cry out with alarm and pain. He'd been stuck with a fiery arrow in the side. Black pitch and blood oozed from the wound. Other arrows were now stuck in the cart, burning pitch popping and crackling as it lit the cart afire.

"We're under attack," the Templar from the meadow shouted. "To arms! To arms!"

The Templar in front of Tal snatched the arrow stuck in his side and ripped it out with only a slight grimace. Tal guessed it hadn't gone all that deep. The true irritation came from the fact that the pitch ensured the fire kept smoldering on his armor. The Templar batted at it with one fist even as he grabbed his shield off his back with the other.

More arrows flew, all of them fiery. Two landed in the tent Tal and Martin shared. The Tranquil shuffled out of the burning tent in no great hurry, untouched by the fear of this situation, but he had a leather shield of his own and lifted it to protect himself from arrows. The other two Templars emerged in only leather armor, but both had shields. The sentry across the meadow had been waylaid and was currently fighting with one of the attackers.

Still crouched beside the cart, which was now burning, Tal squinted into the darkness beyond the fiery camp, trying to see the attackers and failing. The heat of the flames from the cart distracted him though, and he tried to cast winter's grasp on the fire to douse it—only to grimace as the manacles thwarted his mana draw. He tossed up a barrier over himself and the Templar nearby and shot to his feet, running for the man with his hands thrust out. "Hey! Take these off and I can—"

"Get back, mage!" the Templar shouted and swung at Tal's head.

Stumbling backward, Tal nearly fell but caught himself as he dropped into a crouch instead. He heard more arrows whine overhead and one of them bounced off his barrier, making it ripple like water. The smell of smoke stung his nose and made him dizzy. A quick look at the cart revealed it to be nearly consumed in fire now. Any moment and that wonderful Antivan wine was sure to burst and the alcohol would further fuel the flames.

Gritting his teeth and refreshing his barrier, Tal lunged for the bottle he'd pilfered, snatching it out from beneath the cart as he rolled under it and out the other side. His robes smoldered and a few spots of flame licked up his sides when he popped upright, but Tal slapped at them with the manacles, snuffing them out. He heard shouting and yells of pain from over by the tents and felt his stomach twist with dread, his heart racing.

 _Time to get out of here,_ he thought. Drawing up the stealth spell again, Tal ran west through the clearing, aiming for the trees in the distance. The attackers had come from the east, from the direction of Hasmal. Tal would run away and then double back.

At the tree line he dropped and skidded to a stop in the brush, rolling onto his stomach gaze back to the camp about fifty meters distant. The cart let out a sharp _boom_ noise as the alcohol ignited at last, sending a little fireball into the sky and lighting the clearing in even more orange-yellow light for Tal to see by. In those harsh contrasts Tal saw the thin, reedy figures of the attackers and suddenly his heart was hammering with more than just fear.

_They're elves!_

He felt a pang of guilt, however, as he saw the elves converge on Martin, cutting him down. Martin hadn't had much choice in any of this, being Tranquil, but there wasn't much Tal could do to help him. And he knew Rosa liked to say Tranquil were better off dead than neutered drone-slaves.

One of the Templars fought in the midst of the burning camp and Tal recognized him as the man who'd taken an arrow at the very start of the attack. There were only two other Templars still standing, the fourth must've fallen already as Tal saw no sign of him. He watched, spellbound, as the elves hassled the shield-bearing Templars, forming circles around them and then darting in and out. They moved fast as snakes, striking with short daggers and then whipping away again in an almost dancelike maneuver. They were like water, always in motion.

Then white shapes moved through the fire and Tal gasped as he recognized the halla. From the edge of the burning camp the brontos bellowed and the horses whinnied in fright, tethered as they were to stakes set into the ground near the burning cart. Tal watched the animals tugging on their leads, ears swiveling and eyes rolling wild with terror at the carnage. The halla, however, bore their riders with grace and confidence, heedless of the smoke and the clash of blades. On the riders' faces, elevated as they were above the heat mirages and foliage, Tal saw they wore vallaslin.

Tal's skin dimpled with gooseflesh as awe surged through him at the sight. Over the roar of the fire he heard a woman's voice cry out in elven, strong and authoritative. _"Where is the mage?"_

" _We have seen no one else,"_ came an answer from a warrior on the ground.

" _Keep one of the_ shemlen _alive for questions,"_ the woman ordered.

The woman spurred her halla stag around the burning camp and toward the cart where the horses and brontos were still struggling against their tethers in panic. In the camp itself the two Templars who'd been woken from their tent and hadn't had time to don their full armor were now dead. That left only the man who'd taken a burning arrow to the side and he'd been surrounded by elves and stripped of his shield. He now waited in his circle for whatever was to come. The only thing Tal could see of him from his low vantage point was his helmeted head, gleaming orange in the firelight.

Tal counted over twenty elves walking through the fires, and several of them were not warriors or rogues. They were mages. They used their power to put out the fires on the tents and hurry to heal injured comrades. Others combed the battlefield, seemingly searching for something. Every so often they knelt and lit something afire. One of the halla riders—a man this time—seemed to direct them about, shouting for them to burn the arrows.

 _They're destroying the evidence,_ Tal realized. The elven design in the fletching and arrowheads would give them away and they apparently did not wish anyone to realize who had been behind this attack. _Smart,_ Tal thought. It was just the sort of thing his clan would have done had they raided a human caravan…not that they had…very often…

The woman astride her halla seemed to be searching for something near the burning cart, but eventually the distressed animals diverted her attention. She motioned at them and Tal saw a faint greenish glow about her as she cast a spell. The animals quieted in response, growing passive and calm. Then, with precision that revealed her to be a rather powerful and well-trained mage, she snapped the animals' tethers, one right after another, using raw force. A heartbeat later she also doused the flames consuming the cart with an idle wave of her hand.

 _She's got to be the Keeper,_ Tal thought. _Or the First._

The second halla-rider approached her, his doe tossing her head and snorting at the smoke. The man called out in elven to the woman atop her stag. _"There's no mage here."_

" _Continue your work here,"_ the woman said. _"This must appear to be an attack by bandits. Claim the horses and the brontos. Salvage any goods you can."_

" _And what will you do?"_ the man asked.

She grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the orange light from the smoldering ruins of the camp. Then, yelling out several names, she motioned at the woods—in Tal's direction.

 _They're searching,_ he realized. _For me._

" _Fenedhis,_ " he muttered to himself, his stomach twisting into knots with indecision. He had little chance of outrunning a search party, but he could feasibly hide with the stealth spell. His first thought when he'd run across the clearing had been to double back, using the brush and trees for cover, and then, when it was safe enough, he'd head east for Hasmal to help Rosa and Revas.

And yet…taking in the burning cart and recalling the exchanges he'd overheard, Tal realized these elves hadn't attacked the Templars for supplies. _This…_ all _of this_ _was to get me._ He felt fear grip him in its cold clutches. There was no way a clan would mobilize this much effort to help one lost Dalish mage trapped in a Circle that they happened to glimpse in a caravan traveling between Circles. They'd fear Templar reprisal and deem the cost too great. These elves may appear Dalish, but they did not _think_ like them. Or at least not like any clans he'd known...which, admittedly, was one.

Unknowns were dangerous things and Tal knew he had to be careful. Rosa had told him the demon that had faced her during her Harrowing was ancient and powerful and still interested in the world beyond the Veil. It wanted him, just as it wanted Rosa—just as these elves apparently wanted him. If the Formless One could speak with the Templars to expose he and Rosa as siblings, why couldn't it manipulate elves as well?

Tal knew that if Rosa had been with him she would have hidden or doubled back already. She would have lied in wait to capture one of these elves alive for a quick interrogation. She would not trust that they had her best interests at heart. Without Rogathe inside her to force her to fight, she would not pit herself against impossible odds, though she might gladly take a hostage to learn more about these strangers.

As much as Tal often felt his sister was paranoid and overly distrustful of others' intentions, he could not deny that she had survived over a year on her own walking across Thedas. Her caution had kept them both alive on more than one occasion. Maybe now, even in her absence, she could save Tal again.

Crawling backward, away from the clearing, Tal slunk forward through the leaf litter, trying to disturb it as lightly as possible. If these elves were Dalish they would be excellent trackers and he couldn't afford to leave a trail. When he reached a sizeable pine tree Tal went to its trunk and forced his way between the branches, climbing higher. His manacles made him clumsy and slow, forcing him to move awkwardly to accommodate hands that could not part. Once he was reassuringly high off the ground—about four meters up—he tucked himself into as small a place as he could, resigned to wait.

The pine smelled rich and fragrant with sap, and its boughs sheltered him from the cold and the wind, but he soon began to shiver. He almost groaned as he realized he'd left his pilfered Antivan wine bottle behind at the edge of the clearing. Oh well, nothing he could do now. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and cursed the Circle for not making its robes warmer. At least he was fairly well camouflaged as his robes were mostly green with a bit of brown and white here and there. He hoped the white bits would be masked by the tree from further away.

It was only a few minutes he heard the gentle crackle of leaf litter and the occasional snap of twigs as figures began to move quietly through the forest nearby. When they came close to his pine tree, Tal drew the stealth spell over himself once more. It shielded him not only from sight but also from the cold and he was able to relax under the blanket of magic as elves passed like wraiths beneath him.

And then he heard the soft stamp of the halla rider nearing. The stag's breath was surprisingly loud as it walked, its coat a brilliant white like snow that stood out starkly against the darkness of the forest. And it was quite tall, pushing its rider's head disturbingly high into the canopy. At her elevated vantage point the woman might even be able to make out the faint shimmer the stealth spell sometimes created due to the ambient magic Tal didn't know how to mask or stop. The only thing Tal could do was to concentrate on holding the stealth spell in place and pray to Mythal that the rider wouldn't sense him.

The halla had stopped near his tree, puffing out a breath as it nosed some browned leaves on a nearby birch. The woman riding the stag, however, stared with narrowed eyes through the darkness. The faint, milky moonlight from far overhead made her eyes glitter. Her vallaslin were black and a tad sloppy. Her skin was olive colored, reminding Tal vaguely of Rosa's. She also had dark hair, tied up in a tight bun. There was something stark and hard in her features that both intrigued and repulsed him, though the baser part of his mind saw only that she was…quite striking.

Then the woman's brow furrowed and she twisted her body toward Tal's pine tree and craned her head upward. Her dark eyes flicked over the tree and Tal felt his stomach drop. _Fenedhis. Shit. Fuck. Creators dammit!_ He stayed in place, every muscle rigid with fear.

Then the woman let out a short, sharp laugh, sounding both shocked and…amused. Turning to shout into the woods at the other elves still searching the area, she said, _"I've found him!"_

Losing control of the stealth spell, Tal let a panicked stream of curses spout from his mouth as he scrambled to try and get out of the tree. He heard the halla bellow beneath him, its hooves stamping on the carpet of needles as the woman circled about the pine to intercept him. _"Why do you hide, mage?"_ she asked and then, switching to common, she said, "Have the _shemlen_ tamed you and made you fear your own people?"

Still about three meters up in the tree, Tal paused, clinging to the pine and grimacing as he ran his hands through a clump of sap. _Damn these manacles!_ His heart was pounding, his throat and stomach tight. He heard more calls in elven and footsteps charging rapidly through the underbrush. _So much for hiding._ Too bad he hadn't come up with a secondary plan.

"Hello?" the woman called, her voice lighthearted. "You're safe among the People now."

"Am I?" he blurted and let out a nervous, tight laugh. "I rather thought I was trying to break my neck in a tree."

The woman laughed, sounding genuine. "Yes, you're also doing that."

A bit of Tal's fear eased as he glimpsed her through the trees and judged her smile to be amused and sincere. There was something… _familiar_ about her. Had he seen her before somewhere? Somehow? "So," he called to her as he lowered himself down to the next branch. "What clan is this?"

Now the woman's smile dimmed slightly, barely perceptible but Tal sensed it nonetheless. "Gonathe," she replied and then said, "I suppose I should introduce myself, no? _Aneth ara._ I am Zevanni. _"_

Tal continued easing his way down the tree, grunting with effort. The manacles made going downward a lot harder than up. " _Aneth ara,_ " he returned. "I'm Tal." Then, thinking he should be more formal than that, he started to add, "Actually, my full name is—" he broke off, yelping as a section of bark on the branch he clung to gave way. He fell, thrashing and screaming, and landed hard.

Something cracked as he hit the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs as he lay on the carpet of pine needles, stunned and winded. Then pain washed over him and he hissed through gnashed teeth. "Fuck."

"That," Zevanni said from somewhere above him, "did not sound good." Through the blinding, hot rush of pain from his shoulder and chest, Tal dimly heard her stag snorting and stamping. A moment later she knelt at his side, her warm, slightly damp hands tapping his cheek. "Hey. Tal. Stay focused."

He wanted to say, _On what?_ But then he felt magic tingling his skin, sinking into him with a soothing, cooling sensation. Some of the pain diminished at once and Tal found he could breathe easier. His vision seemed to be closing in though, blackness constricting his view. He struggled to keep it at bay, focusing on the fierce tingling of Zevanni's magic. Her face swam hazily into view, tight with concentration and he groaned, faintly embarrassed to be meeting this attractive woman under such humiliating circumstances.

"Not…always so clumsy," he wheezed out. "Swear."

"Void take the Veil," Zevanni grumbled above him under her breath. She was breathing hard and her face, when it came into focus, seemed to be pale and sweaty. Footsteps thumped through the ground and Tal felt dizzy and lightheaded as he sensed more elves surrounding him, like vultures jostling for position. Fear seized him, amplifying the pain in his shoulder and the blackness took him.

* * *

Tal snapped awake to find himself bouncing. He groaned, tensing and struggling when he felt his right arm had been bound to his side. But pain from that shoulder made him wince and cry out. " _Fenedhis!_ Ow, ow, ow…"

"Hush," a female voice behind him scolded. "Be still."

Gradually Tal realized the bouncing sensation affecting him was because he was astride a halla stag trotting through the long grasses of the Free Marches. Tal had been bundled in a bear pelt and now sat tucked in front of an elven woman. Her name snapped back into his memory with a jolt: Zevanni. Twisting his head, Tal saw another halla rider off to the left and slightly behind Zevanni while dozens of other elves jogged nearby and in the distance. It was near dawn, the horizon ahead of them was blue-gray.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice croaking.

"To the nearest clan that will have you," Zevanni replied curtly. "It will take about a week. There aren't many clans here."

"Wait, wait, wait…" Tal said and tried to free his good left arm from the blanket only to feel Zevanni cuff his ear.

"Don't be a fool," she admonished. "You have no weapons and no supplies. You can't survive out here without a clan."

"I can't join a clan," he stammered, his head spinning. "We're…we're going east. I need to go west. Back to Hasmal."

"And why is that?" Zevanni asked, her voice oddly amused.

"My sister is a prisoner in the Hasmal Circle," he explained. "I can't abandon her."

"And you cannot save her by yourself," Zevanni countered. "Especially not with a broken collarbone."

"What?" he asked, mouth hanging open. "When did that happen?" He tested his right arm again, finding it still strapped to his side. It ached, deep and bitter, as he tried to move it. "Elgar'nan's fiery butthole," he snapped, using Rosa's favorite uncouth curse.

Zevanni laughed, loud and breathless for a long time and Tal felt his face bloom with heat. "I like you," she announced when she'd finished laughing. "That's why I almost went into mana burnout trying to save your clumsy ass after you fell out of that fucking tree. I'm not about to let you run back to Hasmal now."

Tal was silent a moment, brow knitting as he tried to process everything she'd just said. Finally he asked, "What tree?"

She laughed again, a little darker now this time. "Sadly I can't do anything to heal your head."

Tal did remember a tree now, faintly, but he pushed aside that memory in favor of something _way_ more important. "You like me?"

She clucked her tongue and Tal wished he could see her face as he was certain she must have rolled her eyes. "If I didn't like you I would have turned you into a pile of ashes like the rest of that caravan."

More memories swam back into Tal's mind: the burning cart, the elves surrounding Martin and cutting him down, the Templar who'd tried to punch him in the head rather than remove his manacles. Realizing his hands were no longer bound, Tal said, "You took off the manacles."

"We searched the bodies and found the key, yes. We also found a phylactery we assumed was yours on one of the Templars and destroyed it." Her voice took on a note of disgust. "Fucking _shemlen_ dogs and their anti-magic shit."

Tal was silent for a time, watching the grass sway ahead of them as they ascended the next hill, still heading east. These elves had attacked a caravan of Templars seemingly for the sole purpose of retrieving _him._ Now he was as good as their captive, being carted supposedly toward another Dalish clan. But Zevanni had claimed to be part of a Dalish clan herself, hadn't she?

He screwed up his face, puffing out a breath as he tried to ignore the deep ache in his right collarbone. So many unknowns and unknowns were dangerous. His mind was cloudy with pain and exhaustion, but he knew he couldn't afford to waste any time. If these elves were somehow enslaved to the Formless One or…something else…he needed to escape.

"You said you're Dalish," Tal said, speaking slowly with caution. "Why do you need to take me to another clan? Can't I stay with your clan?"

"My _clan_ isn't the peaceful living type," Zevanni replied coolly. "We're marauders. We make the _shemlen_ pay for what they've done to the People."

"Is that why you attacked the Templars holding me captive?" he asked. Her answer had sounded sincere, the anger and passion underlying it impossible to miss. Perhaps these elves weren't as nefarious as he'd feared. _Mythal,_ please _let that be true…_

"Absolutely," Zevanni answered. "We wouldn't have bothered with them normally, but we spotted you walking with them. No one bearing vallaslin should be in a Circle tower." She grunted, sounding irritated. "Nobody should be in a Circle tower, actually. Fucking anti-magic _shemlen._ "

"Yeah, I got that part," Tal quipped, smirking. "You sound like my sister. You'd probably like her." He paused just a heartbeat before saying, "Hey! I've got an idea! How about you and your marauding clan go to Hasmal and help me break into the tower so we can get my sister out?"

Zevanni let out an amused snort. "You just don't quit, do you?"

"Quit what?" Tal asked earnestly.

He felt Zevanni shake her head, sighing. "What in the great Beyond have I gotten myself into now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tal insisted. "I'm serious. What am I supposed to quit doing? I was just suggesting that you could add a really powerful mage to your ranks if you rescue my sister. She has vallaslin too, you know."

"Is that so," Zevanni said, her voice flat.

 _Well,_ Tal thought with a sinking sense of defeat. _That's not going to work._

"Tell you what," Zevanni said, abruptly breaking the silence. "What I _am_ interested in is that spell you used in the tree." She paused a beat, chuckling. "You _do_ remember the spell right? And the tree?"

"I might remember better if we started heading toward Hasmal," Tal hedged, smirking.

Zevanni scoffed. "I just saved you from a lifetime rotting away in a Circle," she reminded him. "I'm returning you to the People. The least you can do is answer my questions. A spell like that could really help me and my people out."

"It didn't help _me_ out much," Tal quipped dryly. "I mean, you still found me. But you're right, I kind of owe you. Too bad I know squat about the spell. My sister is the master. I'd teach it to you, but I'm not very good at it."

Zevanni groaned, though she broke off partway through to laugh. "All right, _Tal._ If you won't tell me about that spell, why don't you finish telling me all about that precious sister of yours. That way we can get this over with and then, if you talk about her again, I'm going to conk you over the head. You ken?"

 _You ken?_ Tal frowned, realizing that she had an unusual accent, unlike anything he'd heard before. Perhaps it was common among the clans inhabiting this part of Thedas? It was easier to focus on that rather than to try and puzzle out whether he believed she would actually knock him out for mentioning his sister.

"Okay," he said, drawing out the single word. "Now I don't want to talk about my sister. Happy?"

Oddly, she sighed. "No, actually." Zevanni was silent a time and then asked, "What clan are you from? You didn't say before."

"Ghilath," he replied at once. "In the Dales, though we ranged into the Frostbacks and further west."

"Tell me what the Dales are like," Zevanni said, and it sounded almost more like a command. "I've never seen them."

Tal wasn't certain he believed her for some reason, but small talk was better than brooding silence from someone who currently held him immobile. "Looks a lot like this place, actually. Rolling hills and trees and bushes and whatnot. More boulders in the Dales though."

"And what was Ghilath like?"

Tal gave a half shrug only to wince with pain from his shoulder. "Ouch." He used his left hand to gingerly rub at his collarbone but stopped when he found that didn't help. Instead he used a light healing magic, tingling and cooling to soothe the pain away. "My Keeper was an ass. He wouldn't make me First even if there weren't any other mages born to us. He said as much to my face."

Zevanni grunted. "He does sound like an ass. But he must have made your sister First, since she's such a hotshot mage according to you."

"She's from a different clan," Tal told her. "But my Keeper didn't like Rosa either when he did meet her at the Arlathvhen."

"She's from a different clan?" Zevanni asked, sounding perplexed. "That's…interesting."

"Not really," Tal told her, still soothing away his pain with a light flow of magic. "She and I have the same father."

"Uh-huh. And who would he be?" Zevanni asked and there was something sharp in her voice that set Tal's teeth on edge.

"His name was Revas," Tal blurted, lying on the fly. "But he's dead now and you wouldn't know him anyway."

"Yeah," Zevanni agreed with a disappointed sigh. "Never heard of him."

 _Good,_ Tal thought, but he swallowed with nervousness, finding his mouth was too dry. Now he just had to hold true to that lie for a week. It'd be easy for Rosa to do, but for Tal…

 _My father is dead. His name was Revas,_ he coached himself. _And don't mention Revas in the tower or that'll just make things messy._ He drew in a few deep breaths and tried to stay positive. _I can do this. I_ can _do this. Just don't talk about anything Rosa wouldn't approve of…_

"So," he said then. "Want to hear about the time I put itchweed in my Keeper's breeches?"

Behind him, Zevanni laughed again and Tal felt her shake her head once more. "Oh, Fen'Harel take me. What have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"And are you satisfied, _da'len?"_ he asked her, daring to brush his lips and nose against hers, smelling the tantalizing nearness of her in the lilac and vanilla of her personal scent.

Inhaling sharply, she grabbed his chin and turned his head to the left so she could speak into his ear, her hot breath sending a shiver through him. "Hardly. You can do better." She bit his lobe and Solas swallowed forcefully to keep himself from groaning aloud. "And you can start by not calling me _da'len._ I am _not_ a child."

"I am not convinced, _da'len,"_ he teased, his voice deep and throaty. He turned his head back to face her and felt her breath puffing on his cheeks. "You will have to prove it to me."


	26. Breaking News from the White Spire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm telling you there are alternatives [to the Rite of Tranquility], but you're too blind to see them. If you keep trying to strangle mages, you'll lose us. That I promise you."—Rhys (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Solas has the pleasure of informing Rosa that her brother is safe. The Hasmal Circle's templars lock down the tower, confining the mages to quarters. Tal has a fateful meeting with his father in the Fade...

For two nights following his discussion with Zevanni, Solas had waited tensely for an update from her that he could share with Rosa. So far he knew that Zevanni had closed on the caravan the previous night, but the weather made her hesitate to attack and she'd elected to wait. Her plan had been to use fire to destroy most of the evidence of the attack and the sogginess of the rain and mist would make that difficult without constant mana expenditure by her mages. But early this night she had reported the weather was dry and her fighters were ready to spring.

Yet, by dawn, Solas had not heard anything. The Fade had been mum when he tried to summon Zevanni to him—a sure sign that she was not asleep. Felassan had been frustratingly unavailable as well, so Solas had turned his full attention on manipulating the mages to stir dissent and foment the rebellion he and Rosa needed to escape.

Solas attended Enchanter Varian's course again that morning to further expand his core. He'd begun conducting the exercises in private at every opportunity as well and had felt his mana reserves flex in small but steady increments. He was still nowhere near his pre-Veil strength, but when he sought out Yvette, the mage teaching apprentices practical magic technique, and asked to be pitted against her finest student, he won against the boy she offered up with ease.

Before leaving for lunch, Solas retired to his room quickly to touch the Fade in search of Zevanni again for news. This time when he imagined his agent the Fade trembled and warped, reacting at once. When Solas opened his eyes he saw Zevanni sitting in the crook of a large pine tree, shadowed and with her arms crossed over her chest. Sensing him, she lifted her head and said, "I have good news and some not so good news."

"Speak," Solas commanded her curtly. "I have little time and cannot linger."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "I rescued the Dalish boy from the Templars. We took no casualties, just a few injuries. There were only four Templars. They were fools and thought the roads would be completely safe this time of year, I guess."

"And the bad news?" Solas prodded. It couldn't be especially bad as she'd said she succeeded…

Zevanni scowled and shook her head. "I'm about to throttle my new charge."

Solas smirked. "Please refrain from doing so. I believe he may be valuable."

"That's just it," Zevanni said, hopping up from the tree and stalking closer. "He _is._ Did you know he knows Dirthamen's favorite stealth spell, _hahren?_ The spell he reserved for his nearest and dearest? _"_

Solas didn't bother trying to deceive his agent. Slowly, he nodded. "I had guessed as much. He managed to come and go too often and with too much ease that when I learned his sister could perform the spell I guessed at once that Tal knows it as well. It is…disconcerting. But Mythal also knew the spell."

Zevanni snorted, making a gesture of frustration with her hands that was half-shrug, half dismissive wave. "I'd think he was one of us, woken from uthenera, if I didn't know better. The boy's Dalish, but someone in his past wasn't." She cocked her head to one side, almost glaring out her frustration. "Please, _hahren,_ if you know something about him, I'd ask you to share it. I can't _stand_ not knowing and this boy is obviously hiding something."

She'd been a spy in Elvhenan so ferreting out secrets was something she had always been passionate about. Solas wasn't at all surprised to see how this subject dug at her, like a thorn beneath the skin. He stared at his agent, cold and impassive as he considered whether to divulge what he knew. In the end he knew withholding the knowledge when Zevanni had basically guessed it already would merely annoy her.

Dropping his gaze to the brown earth and dry yellow grass around them, Solas said, "I know them to be descendants of a Dreamer who awoke some generations ago, by the name of Ivun. Supposedly he was a distant relative of Sylaise and June." Frowning as he saw Zevanni shift from one leg to another as she took in this news, Solas continued, "I have come to suspect that this ancestor of theirs lied of his origins, but why I cannot say. There is also the possibility that Rosa, Tal's sister, has misled me."

"But why?" Zevanni asked, her expression twisting with consternation.

Solas' jaw clenched. "She has told me she knows the conflicts of Elvhenan live on to this day. What conflicts she means, aside from the Forbidden Ones serving their masters, is unclear. Yet, I suspect she fears my motives and allegiances."

Zevanni's look was grim. "She suspects you?"

Solas shot her a dry glare. "She suspects everyone on principle."

Now Zevanni's mouth formed a wide O-shape and she grinned. "You must be getting on with her splendidly then, _hahren._ "

Ignoring her teasing, Solas said, "Treat Tal well and keep in mind that he is clever. I do not know what his sister has told him and if you hope to uncover more you will need to be subtle. The boy is much less guarded, but do not underestimate him."

"Can I use the dreaming against him?" Zevanni asked with a sly smile.

Solas shook his head. "Tal has been around too many Dreamers to be easily tricked. I would advise you to ply him in the waking world. He is young and friendly and liable to make mistakes you can use."

Now Zevanni's smile turned feral. "I can do that, _hahren._ He's easy enough on the eyes…"

Solas sighed as he cautioned her, "Do not allow him to fall in love with you." He knew better than to warn Zevanni against emotional entanglements herself. He sometimes suspected she lacked the ability to actually love another.

"Of course," she replied smugly.

"And do not share what I have told you of these siblings with others," he added sternly.

This drew an arched eyebrow from Zevanni. "I wouldn't divulge it, of course, but may I ask why, _hahren?_ "

Solas squared his shoulders and thrust out his chin with authority. "Although _I_ do not understand Rosa's suspicions, I cannot dismiss them. She apparently feels sharing this knowledge of her heritage is dangerous to herself and I would not see her or her brother harmed. There is…something unusual about them." He didn't want to reveal the Formless One's interest in their blood. What he'd said already to Zevanni made him feel stiff with shame, but denying it when his agent had already guessed it based on what Tal had already let slip seemed foolish.

Zevanni nodded. _"Ma nuvenin, hahren._ I will be entirely discreet. _"_

* * *

Lunch was sandwiches with turkey, cheese, and tomatoes. There was a creamy, pale sauce as well, provided in a small cup for dipping or spreading over one's meal, but it smelled fatty and unpleasant to Solas. He left it off, as did Rosa, but Varric spread it liberally over his turkey slices, a small smile over his lips.

"That stuff looks _and_ smells like rancid tallow," Rosa complained, grimacing with disgust.

"Oh, come on," Varric admonished with a cluck of his tongue. "How can you say that if you haven't even tried it?"

"I must second Rosa's observation," Solas put in as he set his own little cup of sauce as far away from his meal as he could without putting it on the table away from his tray.

Varric let out a longsuffering sigh. "You too, Chuckles?" He shook his head ruefully. "You two have been a couple of downers since we lost Stoic." He lifted both hands, palms out, as if to stave off their protests though Sola shad had no reaction and Rosa merely shot the dwarf a glare. "That's not to say I don't miss him too, but do you think the kid would want us to sit around moping that he's gone?"

"No," Solas agreed. "You are correct, Master Tethras." He looked to Rosa and offered her a smile, deciding now was the moment to share his good news with her. Speaking in elven, he said, _"Your brother is safe and free, with my friend."_

" _Are you sure?"_ she asked him, leaning over her tray to be closer to him. Her violet eyes were wide, bright with hope.

" _I am sure,"_ Solas reassured her, smiling.

Her eyes fluttered shut with relief and her shoulders sagged as the tension fled from her. _"Ma serannas, Solas. Ma serannas."_

"Uh," Varric said, scratching at his chin. "Lost here." He grunted and added, more to himself than the elves: "I really should try to learn elvish."

Solas flashed an apologetic smile at Varric. "Apologies, Varric. It will not happen again."

Varric smirked dryly at him. "Right," he said, drawing out the single word to let Solas know just how believable he found that answer to be.

"Let's play a game," Rosa suggested, beaming now that she knew Tal was safe—and _free._ "In Tal's honor."

Varric laughed. "If it's in Stoic's honor it needs to involve alcohol and the Circle doesn't approve of booze before dinner." As if for emphasis, Varric motioned at the center of the table where water carafes sat rather than the wine that'd be there if it had been dinnertime.

Rosa chuckled. "I suppose you're right. Got enough whiskey in that flask of yours for three?"

"Not a chance!" Varric said with a dry laugh.

Solas idly brushed his fingers across the water carafe, observing the ice chunks floating in it. Mages created the ice before the meals and by now they were half-melted, with condensation lining the sides. Solas watched droplets form where his fingers streaked the condensate together. They rolled in streaks down to the table below to pool around the bottom of the glass.

Feeling his mana bubble in its enlarged, satisfying core, he siphoned off only a smidgen of it and watched as the water began to turn opaque in the carafe as it froze. Solas kept the change slow, under tight control. If he changed the water into ice too quickly the glass would break.

"And what are you up to, Revas?" Rosa's voice asked him, teasing.

Solas' gaze flicked briefly to her and then he pulled his fingers from the water carafe, ending the exercise. "A game," he told her with a small smile. "A challenge, actually."

"Freeze it without breaking the glass?" Rosa asked. "Child's play."

Varric snorted. "Maybe if the children are _mages."_

Rosa leaned toward the other end of their table to another water carafe. She snatched it up and set it down near Solas' with only a few drops spilled. "Race you," she said, grinning.

"Very well," Solas agreed with a small, coy smile.

"My money's on Violet," Varric said, leaning back in his chair.

"We shall see, Child of the Stone," Solas murmured. "We shall see." Motioning to Rosa's carafe, he said, "This will not be fair for you as mine is already partially frozen."

She gave a flippant shrug. "I can still beat you. It'll be more of a challenge this way."

"Such confidence, _da'len,"_ he said in a playful tone. "But what if you lose? One must consider all possible outcomes."

Rosa scoffed dismissively. "I got this." Rolling her shoulders a moment she drew in a deep breath and then, her gaze flicking to his, she said, "Ready? Set. Go!"

Solas once more concentrated on the carafe, letting flow a steady stream of cold into the bottom of the carafe. Forming ice from the bottom up was the best—and only—strategy to accomplish the challenge, but it had to be done at the correct speed. If he were too fast the water, expanding as it froze, would burst the glass. Too slow and the ice he formed at the bottom would break free and rise to the top and form a cap. He'd never get it to freeze solid then without cracking the glass.

"And Chuckles has an early lead," Varric narrated for them as if this was a horse race. "But Violet is closing the gap quickly. Both working from the bottom now…"

A quick glance at Rosa's carafe and Solas saw the dwarf was right. Rosa had frozen the base and was quickly approaching about a third of the total carafe taken up with ice. Despite the anxious twitch inside him that urged him to be speedier, Solas stayed the course, his ice hissing and crackling faintly as he worked it. This was an exercise he had done countless times as a child, a routine challenge for youngsters in Elvhenan. The goal was precision and control rather than speed, but winter magic was his affinity so he had always had a knack for it.

"Oh, what's this?" Varric said with an exaggerated note of surprise and intensity in his voice. "It looks like Violet has taken the lead! Halfway done and still going strong."

And then there was a resounding _clink_ sound as Rosa's carafe cracked. She pulled her hand away, gasping. " _Fenedhis!"_

"That's all she wrote for Violet!" Varric announced with a grin. "Surprise finish! Chuckles wins!" He slapped the table, smirking. "And I would have lost this wager. Andraste's ass. I might be losing my touch."

Solas hadn't yet stopped forming the ice and was not past the narrow neck of the carafe. Rosa shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched him, a playful smile on her lips. "You won, Revas. You can stop now."

"I prefer to win based on more than my opponent failing," Solas told her, smiling smugly. "The challenge is not to crack the glass _and_ freeze it solid." At the top of the carafe now, Solas pulled his hand away as a few extra water droplets spilled over the lip. "Like so."

"There were a few drops you missed," Rosa pointed out.

"The challenge is impossible to complete without spilling some drops due to the nature of the water," Solas explained patiently. "It expands as it freezes, which is why we must begin from the bottom to push a bit of liquid from it as we work our way up."

Rosa smirked at him. "You should have been a teacher."

"I was," he answered and then, remembering Varric with a spurt of alarm, finished with, "I was considering taking on that role now that I have passed my Harrowing. One of the other mages, Roth, wanted me to teach apprentices—but not regarding the properties of water."

"Good to know," Varric said as he bit into his sandwich, snuffling as he wiped at his mouth. A bit of the pale sauce stuck to his chin and Solas fought back a grimace of disgust.

"You know," Rosa said, eyeing Solas with a glint of amusement. "I think I want a rematch. But a proper duel this time."

"Now?" Solas asked her, sensing her meaning and feeling his heart suddenly begin pounding. Something in her gaze and her tone hinted at haste and…mischief. Deciding to toy with her he said, "This is hardly the place. I believe the Templars on duty would be alarmed to say the least if we began hurling fire and lightning."

"And what about lunch?" Varric put in, waving his sandwich with one hand.

"After watching you eat that nasty tallow stuff I'm not particularly hungry," Rosa said, wrinkling her nose.

"I will be happy to duel with you," Solas told her, but indicated his still mostly full plate. "After I have finished my meal and in the proper place." He let his amusement show through, to communicate subtly that he'd guessed it wasn't merely a duel she wanted. They'd been dancing about one another for two days, always on the verge of losing control again if left alone for even an instant and yet also tense and distracted by Tal's absence and uncertain fate. Now that Tal was safe and free it seemed clear where Rosa's thoughts had flown, yet Solas refused to let himself be swept away by the titillating promise of passion. On some level he still hoped to avoid it.

"Well then," Rosa said with a knowing smirk. "I will see _you_ in the training hall in a few minutes then. Prepare to have your ass kicked, flat-ear."

"Such bravado will only ensure your downfall at my hands," Solas retorted with a smug smile of his own.

"We'll see," she said and rose to her feet before nodding to Varric. "See you at dinner, dwarf."

"Violet," Varric bid her farewell with an answering nod.

Solas watched her walk away carrying her tray with most of its food still on it. Her hips seemed to sway hypnotically, trapping him into staring far too long until at last she was out of sight unless he turned around and doing so would completely give him away. He returned to his sandwich but had only consumed a bite when he saw Varric eyeing him with a savvy, lascivious grin.

"Master Tethras?" he asked pointedly.

"So…" the dwarf drawled, reclining and examining his fingernails. "She made any more of those distressing moves on you?"

Solas frowned. "No," he protested. "She did not—"

"So _you_ started making moves on _her_ finally?" Varric said, waggling his eyebrows. "Is that it, Chuckles?"

"No," Solas said with a frown. "Rosa and I are merely friends."

Varric let out a dry laugh. "Right. And I'm just a vertically challenged human."

"Jest if you like," Solas snapped irritably. "But my personal relationships are just that: personal. I do not discuss them idly."

"The way I figure it, Chuckles, if I can _see_ something's going on, it isn't much of a secret." Varric shrugged and stretched, yawning. He patted his stomach. "Well, that sandwich hit the spot, I'd say." He made a noise of enjoyment in the back of his throat. "And that sauce. Mmm."

Solas heaved a sigh and focused on eating. He had little appetite with the excitement clenching his stomach at the thought of sneaking off for a bit of private time with Rosa, though he tried to quash it. _Do_ not _allow this to distract you,_ he chided himself. _Better yet, do_ not _go through with it at all._

But it wasn't long before he'd finished his meal and bid Varric good afternoon, expecting that he would see the dwarf again in a few hours…

If he'd known it would be the last time he'd see Varric in the Hasmal tower he would've said goodbye properly.

* * *

He found Rosa in the training hall as they'd discussed, going through the motions of battle with a stave that glowed purple-white, indicating lightning. There were two other women in the hall, dueling within rune circles. The sounds of their feet thumping and their grunting as they cast filled the hall. Their bodies were doused in sweat and the air filled with ambient mana. The sight of it set Solas' own pace racing with anticipation as he wondered if he had the strength now to stand up to a mage as powerful as Rosa.

"Flat-ear," she called to him, still twirling her stave. "Finally come to face me, have you?" She grinned as she spun about, pivoting on the toes of one foot. "Are you shaking in your little mage boots?"

Smiling wryly as he walked to a rack holding staffs, Solas selected one with a default for winter magic and grabbed it up, balancing it to get a feel on how well it'd been made. Deciding it was passable, he made his way to a spot a few meters from Rosa and faced her, admiring her grace as she continued to show off her footwork. She moved in and out of the runes that'd been engraved into the flooring for the purpose of duels and practice, heedless of them. She was fluid and fast, her every muscle honed and sharp, yet Solas could see she was more concerned with posturing than with actually practicing.

She was dancing, not fighting. This was a display for his benefit, a show to impress him. As if reading his thoughts, she said, barely winded, "Like what you see, flat-ear?"

He _did,_ of course, but he would never admit to it aloud. Solas chuckled as he moved into his own corresponding rune circle, twisting his stave and stroking his mana core like a man stoking a fire. He saw the mages across the room resume their own duel, going through the same set of motions and counter-motions, spells and dispels. Clearing his throat as he looked back to Rosa's graceful footwork, he asked, "Shall we begin, _da'len?"_

"Sure," she said, still moving in and out of the rune circle. "But let's make it more exciting."

Before he could ask what she had in mind Rosa lunged toward him, one hand flicking up a barrier while she focused lightning through her staff at him. Solas' mouth dropped open with shock as he rolled out of the way, erecting a barrier as he went. The lightning crackled as it streamed past him, just missing his barrier. The mages across the room both gasped and stared.

"Rosa," Solas scolded, shaking his head, only to dodge again as she hurled more lightning his way. Without the rune circles to capture and dissipate much of the energy the lightning shot out to the far stone wall and flickered as it finally failed, leaving behind narrow scorch marks.

"Yes, flat-ear?" she called, grinning as she spun away, refreshing her barrier and launching a stone made of Fade rock from her staff.

Without thinking about it, Solas countered with a mindblast that stopped the rock from hitting him or his barrier and instead sent it crashing to the floor. Bits of it scattered over the floor, clattering as they rolled or bounced away.

"That's better," Rosa said with a laugh. She made a fist and jerked downward, summoning winter's grasp.

Solas felt the chill of it as it hit his barrier, but he refreshed it with more mana—now that he had more to spare—and also incorporated the passive spell to collect stray mana from the air. His barrier would no longer decay very much, even under heavy assault.

With a gesture he aimed a precise Veilstrike at Rosa, intending it to smash straight through her barrier and knock her to the floor but not to cause damage. With a sharp whining noise the spell went off, but Rosa threw herself to the floor and rolled—evading the Veilstrike—and headed straight toward him. Solas Fade-stepped through her and whipped around to fling raw ice at her from his staff, but she had flung up a new barrier and absorbed the attacks easily.

"What are you doing?" one of the mages across the room shouted. "You mustn't do that outside the circles! You'll injure yourselves!"

"No risk," Rosa yelled back, her shoulders heaving. "No reward!"

Solas cast static cage, intending to trap her and force her to submit, but Rosa dispelled it with perfect timing—making him lose the mana even though the spell failed. Solas cursed under his breath. That was a nasty trick, and a clever one to use on an opponent who might have limited mana. It was just the sort of thing he had encouraged his agents to do.

Rosa hurled another Fade stone at him and then spun in a move to bring her closer to him. Using a powerful mindblast to shatter the Fade rock again, Solas cut off her approach using immolate. As the fire ignited and flared up, Rosa yelped and Fade-stepped through it to the other side. Only a meter from Solas now, she lashed out with the butt of her staff. Solas countered it with his own, the sharp sound of metal and wood clapping together echoed through the hall as staff met staff.

Now Solas should have used a mindblast to repel her from him, or alternatively skewered her with his staff, but instead he grabbed her stave and yanked her closer. "Are you finished making a scene?" he asked her under his breath, growling as much with annoyance as arousal.

She grinned, pressing closer to him to nearly whisper, "Probably not." Her lips brushed his cheek as she said, "You may have to distract me." Her face was so close to his that he could feel the heat thrown from her skin. His heart pounded and sweat doused his back and armpits as he restrained his own desire to kiss her. As reckless as this had been he couldn't deny how _exhilarating_ it was to fight, to _move,_ to get his blood pumping…

"If you two are done tearing the place up," a voice from across the room cut into their personal moment. "Then _kindly_ leave."

Solas stepped back abruptly from Rosa, face flushing with heat as he recalled the other two mages standing on the far side of the practice hall. "My apologies," he called to them. "I hope we did not frighten you overmuch." One woman shrugged while the other ignored him, though her posture suggested disgust and anger.

Rosa strode toward the rack where the staffs were stored and returned hers to it while Solas made his apology. He moved after her quickly, but could not place his stave in the rack before Rosa had exited the hall. As nonchalantly as he could Solas followed her, trying to keep his gait smooth and seemingly unhurried even as his breath still came too quickly and his pulse raced from both exertion and anticipation.

Outside the hall Solas initially saw no one in either direction and then, with his keen inner senses and long lifetime of experience, he sensed magic to his right. Glancing that way, Solas saw the slight shimmer of the stealth magic spell and shook his head, smiling slightly as he started walking in that direction. There were several empty classrooms there, used by apprentices in the mornings. One door stood ajar to the left and, as Solas neared it while following his inner senses, he saw it move minutely, as though someone had bumped it as they passed.

Knocking the door open wide with a small and focused burst of raw spirit energy, Solas Fade-stepped through the entryway and collided with an invisible someone. He felt her stealth spell break in the same instant as she let out a yelp of surprise and he pressed a palm flat to her back and spoke huskily into her ear. "I know a spell that would turn you to ash in five heartbeats that I could have used on you just now." He grinned as he felt her shudder, though whether it was at his breath or his words he didn't know. "I win."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, a toothy smile over her lips. "Are we still playing?" she asked teasingly. "Because I _let_ you find me." Turning round to face him, Rosa snatched the hand he had laid over her back and squeezed. "But you held your own in there. I'm impressed."

He scoffed before he could stop himself, both irritated and amused at her arrogance, though he had to remind himself that she didn't know how strong he had been. And he couldn't let her figure it out. So, instead of defending his performance immediately, he said, "You were not trying."

"Maybe not," she hedged. "But you weren't trying all that hard either." She winked at him and stepped closer, reaching her arms up and around his shoulders to lean into him. Solas' heart lurched into his throat at her closeness, aching with excitement that tried to spread as a delicious heat into his groin. "So," she purred, eyes lidded. "Tell me about that fire spell that would turn me into ash. Sounds fun—if you have enough mana to cast it."

"I may," he told her, lowering his head to be closer to hers, their noses almost touching. "Did we duel for entertainment or to establish who is the stronger?"

"Neither—and both." She smirked, violet eyes glinting in the low light of the classroom. "I wanted to see whether I stood a chance even against a weakened _Elvhen._ Tal told me you were good. I wanted to see for myself and the best way is to fight one-on-one in reality. _"_

"And are you satisfied, _da'len?"_ he asked her, daring to brush his lips and nose against hers, smelling the tantalizing nearness of her in the lilac and vanilla of her personal scent.

Inhaling sharply, she grabbed his chin and turned his head to the left so she could speak into his ear, her hot breath sending a shiver through him. "Hardly. You can do better." She bit his lobe and Solas swallowed forcefully to keep himself from groaning aloud. "And you can start by not calling me _da'len._ I am _not_ a child."

He'd often called her the diminutive _da'len_ during particularly flirtatious moments purposefully to taunt her, but this was the first time she had risen to his bait. He knew where this back and forth game of innuendo would go and a faint, distant part of him knew he should resist, but… _Fenedhis._ Void take him, he wanted her too damn badly.

"I am not convinced, _da'len,"_ he teased, his voice deep and throaty. He turned his head back to face her and felt her breath puffing on his cheeks. "You will have to prove it to me."

Almost before he had finished speaking she was kissing him, her lips smashed to his and her body straining to be closer to him. Solas wrapped his arms around her waist, tightening his grip. She opened the kiss and he swept his tongue into her mouth, assertive and hungry and eager. Her hands dropped from his neck, one to grab at his back while the other fumbled at his chest to try and pry open the buttons.

Their breathing was ragged and fast, desire driving them. Over the noise of their mutual breathing Solas almost missed the first shouts from out in the hallway— _almost._ Breaking the kiss, he turned and saw they'd forgotten to shut the door and cursed under his breath. He was about to close it with another burst of spirit energy when more voices and shouting echoed through the hall.

In his arms, Rosa stiffened. "Something's wrong."

Solas turned back to her and quickly kissed her, fierce and passionate. When he pulled away he said, "Let me investigate. You…"

She grinned ruefully. "I have a reputation."

He nodded and quickly pivoted round to peek out the door as more shouts echoed through the corridor. There were Templars in the hall, fully armored and tense. The air seemed charged with it. They had rounded up the two women who'd been practicing in the training hall and now dragged the mages out into the corridor.

"What is the meaning of this? Darcy and I were—"

"You are confined to quarters," one of the Templars growled, grunting as he dragged the woman about by the arm. "Get moving for the stairs. The practice hall is now off-limits unless there's a class."

"What did I do?" the woman repeated shrilly. "What did _we_ do? Either of us?"

The woman she'd been with was bleeding and slumped where the Templar dragging her must have hit her for struggling. Seeing it, Solas winced and pulled his head back inside, heart racing. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Rosa close enough to touch, wringing her hands with anxiety even as her brow knit with restrained rage. Solas placed a finger to his lips and whispered, "We must sneak away. Before they find us."

As if his words had called the Templars down on them, metallic footsteps clattered through the hall, coming closer. Solas stepped back from the doorway and let the stealth spell fall over him. A quick look to where Rosa had been showed she had done the same—and, true to her earlier claim, he saw no trace of her this time. She was better at the stealth spell than she'd let on a few moments ago when she lured him to this room. Even Solas' sense of her was diminished, barely noticeable through his own magic.

A Templar pushed open the door to their room and peered into it, his face twisted inside the helmet he wore as he surveyed the space. With a huff, he turned and left, stomping away down the hall.

Again the mage who'd been arguing with her captors called out: "What did we do? Why is the practice hall off-limits?"

"Knight-Commander Kali's orders, ma'am," one of the men answered gruffly. "All mages are confined to quarters until further notice."

"Why?" the woman spluttered, clearly shocked.

"Get moving," a different man snarled and Solas heard the slap as he must have pushed her. A moment later the two mages hobbled down the corridor, passing Solas and Rosa's room, one woman supporting the other. The Templars followed behind them, pausing to check each classroom and then slamming the doors shut.

As the corridor fell silent again, Solas let the stealth spell fall away and saw Rosa had done the same. Her violet eyes were wide as she stared at him, her lips parted. "Something's happened."

He nodded. "I believe you are correct." _But what?_ Clenching his jaw, he motioned to the closed door. "We must reach our rooms. I'd rather not be caught, especially in an area the Templars have already swept as clear. It will draw unwanted questions."

She smirked. "Especially if we're caught together."

His shoulders slumped with disappointment. "Yes. Especially that."

"We should split up then. You take the stairs on that end." She pointed to the left. "I'll take the ones at the other."

Pinching his lips together, he nodded in agreement and then, hesitating, reached for her again, his heart still pounding against his breastbone. Rosa moved into his embrace, kissing him and already breathing too fast as well. They lingered for several moments—but not nearly enough to satisfy him—when he forced himself to withdraw, almost panting as he cupped her head in his hands.

"Do not put yourself at risk," he warned her and then, as she smiled at him, he added, " _Ar lath ma, vhenan."_

Her eyes widened slightly at the admission and then she surged forward to kiss him hungrily. When the passionate kiss ended and she pulled back, she grinned. " _Ar lath ma,_ flat-ear," she purred. "I'll see you soon—Dread Wolf take the Templars confining us to quarters."

The affection in her voice made it easy for him to ignore her using his Evanuris name as he kissed her yet again, short and sweet this time, and then whipped around to escape into the hall. He let the stealth spell fall over him and heard Rosa's footsteps behind him for an instant before she went right and he headed left, heart galloping inside him for multiple reasons.

_So much for spurning Rosa's advances._ He'd unequivocally and monumentally failed in that respect. It was time to stop pretending he had the willpower to resist this romance and just _enjoy_ it.

But, more pressing, was the sudden change by the Templars. What could have driven that in a tower as relatively easygoing as Hasmal? He had to find out and use it to aid in their escape.

* * *

That night, while wandering the Knight-Commander's dreams and a few of the Senior Enchanters, Solas learned what had caused the Templars to crackdown on their charges. The Hasmal Circle had received a sending via crystal from the White Spire in Val Royeaux with stunning news.

The Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. And not just in theory. There was already an elven mage by the name of Pharamond who'd had his magic and connection to the Fade restored. Stunningly, the sending from the White Spire had been sent out to _every_ Circle tower in Thedas that day.

_Every. Single. Tower._

Fearing the effect of this news as their charges learned the Rite was no longer a lifelong state that could be used to harass and control mages into obedience, the Templars panicked. They banned assembly of any kind and confined mages in their quarters like prisoners, sometimes even refusing to allow them out for scheduled classes.

And their fear was warranted. The Circles had become tinderboxes, dry and primed to ignite, and this news was the stray spark needed for a final, catastrophic combustion. But the Divine had already set in motion an attempt to calm this tension. She'd called for an assembly in Val Royeaux, in the White Spire. Every tower was to send its First Enchanter to represent its mages and they would discuss the news regarding the Rite of Tranquility and, hopefully, achieve some kind of understanding with the Templars and the Chantry.

That assembly was to take place in three weeks.

That night Seeker Pentaghast left the Hasmal tower for Orlais, to join the Divine. Her longtime prisoner and tagalong Varric Tethras was at last free to leave for Kirkwall once more. With the mages in Hasmal confined to the tower for the foreseeable future, he had no chance to bid any of his friends goodbye and no reason to delay his return to the mess that was Kirkwall. He left at dawn, finally reuniting with his beloved crossbow, Bianca. If he regretted parting company with the Seeker even just a little bit, he wasn't about to admit it to anyone—least of all himself.

* * *

As Tal slipped into the Fade that night, hoping to dream up some sensual and exciting memory from his past, he had to make sure he slept only on his good side or his back—because his collarbone hurt like Elgar'nan's fire. Unfortunately for him that night the Fade didn't deliver him a sexy memory or fantasy. Instead he found himself sitting at a simple campfire in a snow-clad forest, the smell of dream-enhancing herbs tickling his nose.

He knew that smell intimately and didn't need to see the familiar figure sitting beside the fire to know just who had made this dream and brought him here. _"Lenalin,"_ he said to the figure, his voice stiff.

The man sighed. "Please, _ishalen._ Do not be as stubborn as your sister. Are you in danger?"

"No," Tal replied, still cold. He crossed his arms over his chest, wincing for a moment as he expected his collarbone to hurt before realizing this was a dream. Of course it wouldn't hurt. Just because he could, he rolled his shoulders around in their sockets, flexing.

"Rosa told me you were in danger," he said, frowning. The vallaslin on his face twisted with the expression. "I could not aid you then, but I am in a much better position now. Please. If there's anything I can do…"

Tal stared at this weathered, hooded man, struggling with the spot in his heart that still warmed at the sight of him. He had Rosa's eyes, but they otherwise looked nothing alike. Tal and he shared far more in common: a long, distinctly Elvhen face, pronounced ears even for elves, generous lips and a refined nose. He knew that this man had loved his mother once and saved clan Ghilath from nobility hunting them in Orlais when they were understrength as the Keeper and many of his warriors were away at the Arlathvhen of just under twenty years ago. He had chosen to stay with the clan for years, despite the hatred and animosity from the Keeper and those closest to him. He had trained Tal, made him laugh, and showered him with funny tales.

And then he had vanished for years. Now Tal knew he had spent at least some of that time returning to Rosa's clan, but a lot of it remained a mystery. And Tal's life had suffered for this man's absence as the Keeper moved in on his mother and clan Ghilath's children turned on him, calling him "the Bastard of Ghilath."

Yet, somehow, Tal had trouble keeping silent. Had he possessed the talent of a Dreamer, he knew he would have sought this man out every night, relentlessly, determined to join him. Traveling with Rosa had been the next best thing at first, though now he felt more connection with his sister than this man who'd fathered him. He should be like Rosa and spit in his face, but instead he sighed and said, "I'm fine now. Some elves who call themselves marauders rescued me."

"I may have missed a few details," his father said, shaking his head. "How were you in danger to begin with? What's happened to you and Rosa?"

So Tal told him, in his bubbly, meandering way: the Templars who'd captured them, Revas who'd helped Rosa remove Rogathe from herself, the demon that'd used Rosa's Harrowing to make the Templars send Tal away to Ansburg, and then the marauding elves who'd rescued him.

"And then I climbed a tree," he said and tapped his right shoulder. "And then I fell out of it and broke my collarbone, but the elves who rescued me don't seem half bad. Except I can't convince Zevanni to take me back to Hasmal to help Rosa." He started to ask if his father could do something for Rosa, but the man interrupted him, voice sharp as if he was surprised.

"Zevanni?"

"Oh," Tal said sheepishly. "That's their leader. The elves who call themselves marauders."

The man pinched his lips together, nodding with understanding. "I see." He drew in a deep breath and Tal thought it shook slightly, but a moment later he was smiling wryly. "That's a very interesting tale…"

"Can you help Rosa?" Tal pressed. "She's still in the tower with Revas."

"I am hardly a match for an entire Circle tower brimming with Templars, _ishalen,"_ his father said lightly. Then, licking his lips, he said, "Tell me more about this other Dreamer with Rosa. You said his name is Revas?"

* * *

Elven Used:

Lenalin: male parent

Ishalen: son, male child

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Tell me about your father. About Eolas," she said and, suddenly, pressed close to him. Tal felt her breath fanning over his cheek as she whispered into his ear. "I would be ever so grateful."

Tal's heart thundered in his ears and he suddenly felt flushed with heat of a very different kind. His head was dizzy, the world fuzzing in and out, but _nothing_ could dull his motivation for sex. He grinned. " _How_ grateful?"

Zevanni gripped his chin in her hand and turned his head away from her so she could access his ear. Her teeth and breath found his earlobe and Tal moaned. Her tongue traced over his ear tip before she nipped it. "Extremely grateful," she growled, low and husky.

* * *

A/N: You may have noticed Rosa doesn't think of Eolas as her father typically, while Tal does. It's a distinct difference in their narrations and reflects that one knew him a lot better than the other. I imagine that Tal at one time called their father the informal _babae_ , elven for "dad." But over time he's pulled back and switched to the more distant " _lenalin."_ Especially once he and Rosa joined forces, she rubbed off on him.

Oh, and I think I fudged up the details about the sending, as described in Dragon Age Asunder. I think the sending actually was sent out from Monsimmard, not the White Spire, but I wanted to reference that tower instead for simplicity sake since the First Enchanters go there to do their vote.

 


	27. Tal's Big Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felassan: Do you ever tire of it, Briala? Walking among the fools, bending them to your will with a word here and a gesture there?  
> Briala: I believe I am doing good work.  
> Felassan: Yes, that lasts for a while.
> 
> Solas' agent plies Tal and learns a big, important secret the Dalish siblings have been keeping. Rosa and Solas prepare to enact their escape. First step: destroy the phylacteries.

Solas jiggled his wrist back and forth, his face a mask of concentration. The butter knife he'd pilfered from a meal weeks ago clattered quietly against the metal of the door lock and he grimaced. Standing off to his left, pressed tight against the small section of stone wall before the stairwell began, Rosa hissed through her teeth with frustration. "C'mon…c'mon…"

The butter knife was a poor substitute for fingers, but Solas had a rough sense of the lock's inner mechanism and how to jimmy it open. The trouble was that it took him longer than either he or Rosa liked. He kept at it, tapping and wrenching his wrist about until at last the mechanism gave way and turned with a resounding _click._ The door whined on its hinges as it swung open, revealing the Knight-Commander's office, replicated in exquisite detail using details both Solas and Rosa had collected over the past week snooping about in Kali's dreams.

"Good," Rosa pronounced with a sigh. "But not good enough."

 _Not as good as you,_ Solas thought glumly. For all his expertise in magic, this was something he hadn't much experience with and it showed. Tal had been the true expert, able to work quickly and virtually silent, but Rosa was a near second and had served as Solas' teacher in the three days since the Templars had confined all mages and enchanters to quarters with few exceptions.

"How did you and Tal become so proficient with this?" Solas asked, letting his voice drop into a growl with his frustration. Raising the filed down butter knife, he passed it to Rosa and rose to his feet to let her kneel in his place. She took it wordlessly and, with an idle gesture, reshaped the Fade before them to close the door to the Knight-Commander's office again.

"Actually," she said as she dropped down to her knees and leveled the butter knife at the lock. "Tal was the one who taught me, but his clan taught everyone. They had some locks they took from Orlesian manors and practiced on them so that if they ever ran into one and wanted to get through they'd know how. I guess the Ghilath strategy was that if they were ever truly starving they could raid _shemlen_ settlements and take their food stores." She worked as she spoke, plunging the knife into the lock and angling it this way and that. "I shaped a lock in the Fade when I used to find him in the dreaming after we met at the Arlathvhen and he'd teach me."

Under her ministrations the door lock clacked and opened with ease. Rosa stood up again and smiled smugly at him. "Were you watching, flat-ear?"

He shot her a glare to communicate his irritation at her term for him. "Of course."

Rosa passed him the butter knife. "Try it again."

Biting back the sigh building in his throat, Solas reshaped the Fade once more, creating the locked door. Kneeling, he pushed the knife into the slot, feeling the metal grind and rub against it. A jiggle of his wrist, a few taps on the long handle, and then Solas twisted it slightly to the left. When the lock resisted again he stopped and repeated the process. He was sweating, flushed hot with concentration as he worked, constantly aware of the passage of time.

At long last the lock clacked and sprang open. Solas stood up once more and shot Rosa a questioning look, one eyebrow arched as he waited for her judgment. She nodded approvingly. "You're getting better."

Stepping past him, Rosa strode into the Knight-Commander's office and around the front of her desk. "One drawer down on the right," she repeated as her hand shot to that corresponding handle and pulled on it. The wood made a scuffing noise as it slid open. Inside something metal clanked. Rosa snatched it up and grinned as she jangled it on one finger. "The keys to the phylactery storage room on the twentieth floor. The very tip top of this wretched tower."

Solas nodded, committing her instructions to memory. They had worked together to create and memorize the route to the Knight-Commander's office via several stairwells, but they were still working on reaching the twentieth level in their dream map. Their work would go faster if they didn't both have to part ways each night to conduct other vital work. For Rosa that involved searching through the mages and enchanters' dreams as well as reaching out to Tal. As for himself...well, he also meddled with the mages and enchanters, but in addition he had to locate his agents for updates. With Zevanni everything was progressing as expected, but Felassan remained unavailable though Solas checked every night. He _really_ needed the eluvians and _hoped_ desperately that Felassan wouldn't let him down.

"To the phylactery room, then?" Solas asked, spreading his hands to indicate the Fade.

She flashed him a playful smile. "You _could_ shape the Fade, Solas, rather than let me do all the work."

"I _could,"_ he replied teasingly. "If you are fatigued I would be happy to aid you…"

She snorted. "Ass."

"You wound me," he rejoined, laying a hand over his chest, complete with a feigned expression of pain. In truth, he _was_ avoiding reshaping the Fade extensively. His connection with it had strengthened along with his core, but there were times he still felt it waver and an ache begin in his temples. If he had to do something strenuous such as reaching far across Thedas tonight if, say, he found Felassan had taken an eluvian all the way to the Western Approach, he wanted to have plenty in reserve. _Especially_ if Felassan had betrayed him.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine." With the hand not holding the set of keys, Rosa waved and the Fade rippled around them, reforming to place them in a short landing outside a large door made of heavy, thick wood. Solas didn't need to read the characters or runes over it to know it was the phylactery storage room. To be truly free of the tower and its Templars, Solas and Rosa would need to break into this room and destroy their phylacteries.

Walking up to the sturdy door and its enormous, multiple locks, Solas nodded with approval. "An excellent likeness," he complimented. Rosa had been the one to focus on seeking out details from Templars regarding the hallway outside, the door, and the locks. Solas had sought out the inside space, though he had made sure to peek at the outside as well to ensure Rosa did a good job.

"Still don't trust me not to blunder around, eh?" Rosa asked with a dry smile.

Solas looked over his shoulder at her and smirked. "You _are_ a novice to one such as I," he reminded her.

"Did Mythal's generals routinely stalk others' dreams?" Rosa asked him airily.

"Routinely," Solas answered, droll but also serious. It was not a lie in the least.

"Well," Rosa said, smiling as she walked up to the door, searching through the key ring until she'd found the right one for the first lock. "Color me impressed, _flat-ear."_

Solas frowned at her back as she slipped the first key into the corresponding lock. "They must be opened in sequence. The top one first. The bottom one second. The middle last." She worked as she spoke and the locks clacked, springing open as she moved between them, using a different key for each. Solas took in the runes and other markings at each lock and noted they matched the rough designs on the locks. "If it's not done right it'll set off a rune in the floor for a nasty freezing spell and the locks will just bolt down again."

"Simple, but effective," Solas admitted.

"The Knight-Commander told me about one in the White Spire that's of a special dwarven design when I posed as a friend of hers in one of her dreams. Cost a fortune for that door, I guess, but in that tower you need a mage and a Templar's powers both to unlock it simultaneously."

"Admirable of them," Solas said. "At least they intended in the beginning to give mages a degree of control over themselves."

Rosa nodded as she finished unlocking the door and, with a grunt, pushed it open. "I like this simpler design though." She grinned at him over her shoulder. " _So_ much easier to bust into, don't you think?"

"Yes," he agreed and swept past her, into the phylactery storage room. It was round with the walls of the tower and lined with circular columns. Each column rose about six meters up, and set into tiny holders encircling it were countless red vials, all glowing. Runes had been written on the stone holders using chalk. Several vials were dark where a mage had died and the Templars and the Tranquil had not yet weeded it out. A ladder sat against one of the stone walls to allow access to vials stored well overhead.

Rosa whistled as she took in the room. "Dirthamen knows how many there are! There must be hundreds! I didn't think we were so many…"

Solas paused in his path toward where he knew their phylacteries, gathered at the same time, were stored. He frowned contemplatively at Rosa. "How can you know Dirthamen and the others were mere mages and yet still use their names as though they were gods?" he asked, perturbed.

She shrugged flippantly. "I don't know." Her lips pinched as she apparently stopped to give it some thought before explaining, "I guess it's because worshiping them came first. I was almost a teenager when my Keeper decided I was old enough to learn the ancient truths Ivun left for us. Those formative years made the phrases stick even if I knew they weren't actual gods."

She smiled at him. "I suppose it helps that I didn't actually see them being flawed and mortal as you did, but part of it is…" She shrugged again. "The _ideals_ they represent. Like spirits, rather than people or gods. It's comforting to have something greater than myself out there, even if rationally I know it's a lie."

Solas smiled dryly. "And which _ideal_ do you believe Dirthamen represented?"

Rosa sobered, her stare darkening. "Knowledge. Caution. Secrecy." Her gaze dropped to the floor in what Solas almost read as a sheepish expression. "Devotion to one's kin and kith alike." Her jaw clenched, brow furrowing. "Even if they let you down or betray you. Or abandon you."

Solas took a few steps closer to her so that he could lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can return to your clan after we escape, Rosa. Without Rogathe there is no reason they would not welcome you to them."

The brief glint of confusion and surprise in her violet eyes sent a jolt through Solas as he realized he'd misinterpreted her darker mood. It hadn't been her clan she was thinking of when she mentioned betrayal and abandonment. But, before he could ask her about it, Rosa grabbed his robes and pulled him to her for a kiss. It was short, fiery and yet tender all the same—and over far too soon.

Pulling away, she flashed a warm smile. "You're right, _vhenan,"_ she said, purring the affectionate term. "But I have to find Tal a clan first. And _we_ still have to get out of this blighting tower."

"Then let us return to the task at hand," Solas said, pivoting about and began walking down a central aisle, straight down from the door, through the circular columns. He pointed to indicate the runes on each column as he passed. "Our phylacteries were collected at nearly the same time. As a result, they are stored together." Stopping in front of a column on the right hand side of the room, Solas gestured toward vials up near the ceiling.

"Column six," Rosa read and blew out a breath with frustration. "And up high, where they'll be hardest to reach. Dread Wolf take the Templars and their damned vials."

Ignoring her curse using his name, Solas focused on the sentiment as he chuckled. "Indeed. But there are plenty of ladders in the room according to the Templar dreams I have searched. Tranquil often comb through the room as well, but as with everything about them, it is on a schedule. Late at night this room will be abandoned except for a lone guard stationed outside."

"How good are you with knockout powder?" Rosa asked, smirking.

"Poor," Solas told her with a frown. "But I cannot imagine it will be difficult to learn. You?"

She puffed out her chest, grinning. "You are in the presence of a knockout powder goddess, flat-ear. Bow before me!"

Solas shook his head. "And how do I know this is not mere bluster on your part?" He shifted his weight from one foot to another, giving away some of his tension at the dangerousness of the current topic. "Need I remind you that we must not only steal and destroy the phylacteries, we must remain undetected while doing so, or this will have all been for naught." He motioned irritably at the columns of red, glowing vials.

Rosa thrust out her chin, her violet eyes hard with pride and confidence. "Solas," she said firmly. "I'm Dalish. We _excel_ at this sort of thing and everyone in the clan learns it, even the pampered First. You never know when you might wind up needing it. Find some _shemlen_ raiding your game trail traps? Knockout bomb. Find a wandering halla you want to tame? Knockout bomb. Run out of food in the winter? Raid a village with a _ton_ of knockout bombs." She grinned. "That last bit is from Tal's clan. They changed the basic recipe to include a hallucinogenic. Makes the _shemlen_ wake up confused. The guard will think he fell asleep on duty and had some bizarre dreams. That's all."

Slightly mollified, Solas let his shoulders ease from their rigid posture. "I hope your confidence proves correct. The true question is whether you can make the powder here."

"Already working on it," she said. "The hardest part will be the blood lotus, but the Tranquil keep some in storage according to Autumn. I just need to sneak in there one of these nights."

Solas' face twisted with worry. "Be careful, _vhenan."_ The term of endearment still sat a tad awkward in his mouth, but the way Rosa's eyes brightened made it worth it. Solas felt his own chest tightening with tenderness. How…strange and yet refreshing and intoxicating to no longer fight and deny it when it stirred. He pushed aside the cautioning voice that still whispered in the back of his thoughts that he could never keep her. Whatever this was between them, it was doomed.

_All the more reason to act on it while we can._

As if she could read his thoughts—a terrifying prospect—Rosa's lips curled with a playful smile and she pressed closer to him, head tilted up until he could feel her breath fanning over his cheeks. "You think I'd go and get myself killed or made Tranquil _now_?" Chuckling, she leaned in until her lips brushed over his chin enticingly. " _Now_ when I haven't gotten you into bed yet?"

"If you intend on dying afterward I may have to refuse your advances," Solas quipped, teasing.

She laughed, tossing her head back. Her violet eyes danced when she'd caught her breath. Her teeth gleamed against her ruddy lips and olive skin. "I'm not sure you could resist even then."

Solas let his hands move to her waist, sliding slowly around her to tug her hips to his own. "I should hope it will prove not to be an issue, _vhenan."_

"Believe me," Rosa whispered. "I have zero intention of dying until I'm an old woman in my aravel, surrounded by my family."

Solas smiled tenderly, hoping with a hot stab in his ribs that she would get her wish—even though he knew his own plans would ensure otherwise. "I shall endeavor to ensure you live to see that happen."

She grinned and quickly kissed his chin. "Good—but the same goes for you, too."

Solas nodded, trying to keep his smile from faltering. _Dying alone, unfulfilled and knowing the People are dying slowly because of me._ He pushed that deep, bone-chilling fear away and instead said, "Let us not discuss death when we should be concerned only with escape and remaining alive." Taking a step back from her, Solas indicated the column again with a motion of one hand. "Our phylacteries are in the fifth row down from the ceiling."

Her gaze followed his pointing index finger and she nodded. "Noted."

Solas let his hand fall back to his side, thumping lightly against his thigh. "Destroying them should be an easy matter. Fire would be best, I believe, for it will burn away the blood."

"I agree," Rosa said. "And fire is my second favorite school after lightning."

"Mine as well," Solas told her. "After winter."

Rosa chuckled, wrinkling her nose a bit in a way that made Solas' want to kiss her. "I _knew_ there was a reason why I liked you."

"I have wondered about that myself," Solas wisecracked. "Perhaps you are attracted to walking skeletons?"

She snorted, her eyes roving up and down his form. "You're still a bit skinny in the waking world, yes, but really, Solas, you're quite stout. For an elf."

"You should have seen Elgar'nan," Solas remarked, struggling to keep his voice light and teasing despite the sourness that still twisted his guts at the thought of the other Evanuris. "He could have passed for a human man with ease."

"What about Dirthamen?" Rosa asked, earnest with curiosity. "Or Mythal?" After a pause she added, "And Sylaise. And June?"

Solas opened his mouth to answer and then hesitated, realizing he had to tread very carefully here and remember his cover story as a relative nobody in the court of Arlathan. "I did not see them as often as I saw Mythal and Elgar'nan, but June was very broad. Sylaise and Mythal were both matronly women with many children." He cleared his throat. "I did not meet Dirthamen," he lied.

She nodded, though her expression fell slightly. "It must have been gorgeous." She closed her eyes. "A time when the People ruled all of Thedas and there were no _shemlen._ "

"It was a time of great beauty and endless magic," Solas agreed, desperately quashing the desire to reveal the ugly side of the empire. "When spirits like Rogathe could walk with those of the physical plane, fight with them, love them." He motioned to the dreamscape of the phylactery room around them. "Now the Fade is a frightful place glimpsed only by Dreamers and mages."

Rosa cocked her head, her brow furrowing and suddenly Solas felt himself break out in a cold sweat as he realized he'd made a mistake. "What do you mean?" she asked, confused. "Was the Veil somehow more permeable back then?"

"Yes," he lied, nodding enthusiastically. "Spirits and demons could cross at will into our world and back out again. Interaction in those days was common. That is why I knew how to aid you with Rogathe."

She nodded, though Solas didn't miss the slight crinkle around her eyes. _Fenedhis._ He was growing sloppy…

"I should take my leave for the night," Solas hedged, his gaze dropping to the floor. "There is much yet to be done."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right." Glancing toward the open door to the phylactery room, she smiled dryly. "The Templars' dreams aren't going to deliver their secrets if we're not there to walk through them."

"Tonight you will work over the Templars?" he asked.

"Yep." She turned and started to walk for the door, her hips swaying with an accentuated sashay. "And I expect you'll handle the mages and enchanters tonight?"

"Certainly," he agreed. "And I will make contact with my friend who is looking after Tal."

Now Rosa chuckled, whipping round and putting her hands on her hips, one leg cocked out. "You know," she said, smirking. "Tal has told me your friend is _hitting_ on him."

Solas tried to keep his expression impassive, refusing to give away the mixture of both amusement and concern twisting inside him. "I did not think such a thing would trouble him. Or is it simply that he prefers men?"

Rosa scoffed, rolling her eyes and then laughing. "His only preference is for them to be _breathing._ And willing, of course."

"So he isn't troubled?" Solas asked and then shook his head. "Are _you?_ "

"No," Rosa protested, but she frowned. "No…I just…"

"You worry for him," Solas guessed and then added in a teasing tone, "But all children must grow up one day."

"He's not my son," Rosa countered, sounding sheepish. "He's my little brother. It's just…"

 _You fear what he may reveal,_ Solas guessed. He kept smiling, open and as innocent as he could be. "You will see him again soon," he reassured her. "And my friend is…rather forward in her interests, but she will protect him and find a Dalish clan soon."

Rosa sighed, nodding. A moment later she shrugged, chuckling tightly. "I guess I'm so used to looking after him. We spent years talking through the Fade and then the year we traveled together too. I just can't stop worrying about him."

"Such emotions are natural within a caring family," Solas told her, tenderness creeping into his voice. "Especially when they are as close as the two of you."

She smiled at him. "Did you ever have any siblings? A wife? Children?"

"No," Solas told her, letting a bit of his regret show through. "I was an only child and as for a family of my own..." He broke off, frowning. "Such things were not possible for one in my position. There was always another war, another conflict."

Her expression warped with something sad—sympathy. " _Ir abelas."_ But she offered him a timid smile. "Perhaps that can change now…?"

Solas tried to keep his smile soft rather than sad. "Perhaps," he hedged.

She sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor a moment as she swallowed and Solas guessed he hadn't managed to hide his emotions quite as well as he'd hoped. Then, squaring her shoulders, Rosa said, "Well, I'm off. Enjoy your dream-stalking, Solas."

She whipped around and trotted off, the dream warping and going hazy around her. A few moments later her presence disappeared from the Fade around him and Solas let out a long sigh, rubbing over his face with frustration.

* * *

The ache in Tal's collarbone made sleep difficult and elusive. Rather than lie awake, Tal sat at the puny campfire the marauding clan of elves had lit, propped up on the leather pack one of the men had given him to carry his bedroll and some basic supplies. Staring into it, he let his mind empty and willed exhaustion to overtake him and obliterate the constant dull ache in his shoulder.

As the moon rose higher in the sky and the air temperature dropped, Tal's shivering only increased his pain. He had a bear pelt from one of the marauders, but the fire was so pathetic it just wasn't enough to ward away the chill. The elves about camp were scattered in their bedrolls, sleeping. Those on sentry duty moved furtive and silent, beyond the edge of the firelight. Occasionally Tal saw their armor glint when they passed by a little too close, but otherwise they might as well be phantoms or figments of his imagination.

After an hour or six passed like that, Tal couldn't be certain which, he heard the rustle of grass behind him and the crunch of dirt underfoot. He turned his head as much as his shoulder allowed and watched as Zevanni walked into the small circle of firelight. She plopped down beside him, one hand holding closed a gray-black pelt while the other clutched a water skin that sloshed as she sat.

"Why are you awake?" she asked him in a quiet voice.

"Collarbone," he answered and grimaced.

Zevanni grunted and, sitting up straighter and letting go of the pelt around her shoulders, she dug about inside her leather armor. A moment later she pulled out several worn cloth sacks and began tugging them open, sniffing quickly inside each. Tal watched her, smiling slightly, until she found what she was looking for and plucked out a bit of something stiff and dry that Tal thought was venison at first. "Willow bark," she explained as she offered it to him. "Tastes fucking awful but it'll get rid of the pain for a while."

Tal grinned. "Creators," he gasped as he took the bit of bark, feeling it over in his hands. "Creators _bless_ you." He gnawed off a section and began to chew, lips curling with revulsion at the bitter taste.

Zevanni chuckled at his side and wriggled the cork on her water skin until it popped out. She tipped it back, taking a quick sip. As she exhaled with satisfaction, Tal caught a whiff of her breath and realized it was _not_ water she'd been drinking.

"Is that wine?" he asked around his gummy bit of bark.

Her dark eyes glinted in the firelight, as did her teeth when she smiled slyly. "By Mythal," she said with mock-surprise. "I think it is. Huh." She extended it out to him. "Want some to wash down the bark?"

"Fuck yeah," Tal told her and took the water skin. Tucking the bark into his cheek, he took a long sip of the wine and, once he'd swallowed, groaned with pleasure. "You are wonderful," he praised. "I might just sleep tonight after all."

"Well," Zevanni said with another chuckle as she began to dig through the cloth sacks again. "I have something for that, too. That would be my second trick after the willow and the wine."

"My father is terrible with herbs," Tal said, still sucking at the bark. "He was always bringing my mother the wrong one. Sometimes I think he did it to be funny, but most of the time he was just clueless."

"You must take after him," Zevanni said, smiling. "If he was funny."

"Oh," Tal said with a snort. "That was his best quality. Always funny."

Zevanni made a humming noise in the back of her throat, acknowledging him. Finally finding what she'd been seeking, Zevanni pulled out another bit of something brownish and lumpy. "Here," she said, still smiling. "This will also help with the pain and get you to sleep."

Tal spat the used up bit of willow bark off into the darkness, frowning at the taste, and accepted the next herb she offered. It was a smaller portion. Sniffing it, he wrinkled his nose. "What's this one?"

"A plant from the local area," Zevanni explained. "Not as strong as the willow but you can swallow it and it tastes better."

Popping it into his mouth, Tal nodded with appreciation. This herb had a gentler taste, but it made his tongue tingle. The flesh was oddly thick and meaty, making him think of a mushroom. Swallowing it, Tal said, " _Ma serannas."_

His eyes watered and the fire burned brighter somehow, though that made no sense. He shivered, wincing with the minor spurt of pain from his shoulder as a result. The pain _had_ dulled, and with remarkable swiftness.

Zevanni grabbed up a stick from beside the fire and began to poke at it. Embers caught in the air, rising up. They blurred in Tal's eyes though he blinked several times, trying to clear them. He took another long sip from the wine, groaning again with pleasure at the sweetness of it dancing over his taste buds.

"I really, really, _really_ cannot thank you enough for the wine," he told her and, oddly, found what he'd said funny. He giggled a little. "Like, _really_. I think I love you after this."

Zevanni chuckled. "Don't get _too_ attached to me, Tal."

"Let me join your clan," Tal blurted, then scowled. He didn't want to run about the Free Marches attacking humans. He had to get back to Hasmal and rescue Rosa. And Revas, too. "Wait," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean that. I can't join you. I have to rescue Rosa. And Revas."

"Revas?" Zevanni asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Tal said, nodding enthusiastically. "He has this orb thing. I wanted to take it. Not for me, really. For my sister, so she could give it to _lenalin."_

" _Lenalin?"_ Zevanni asked, her eyes narrowing. "And what's this about an orb?"

"Why are you making that face?" Tal asked her, scowling. "You're so much prettier when you—"

"You told me your father was dead," she said, edging closer to him and dropping her volume. "Revas was your father."

"No," Tal corrected her and then cursed. "Shit. I'm not supposed to talk about Revas. Or _lenalin._ "

"You lied to me?" Zevanni asked, lips parting and something like pain crossing her face.

The sight of it made Tal groan. "No—I mean…I didn't mean anything by it."

"Why would you lie about your father?" Zevanni pressed, a look of consternation crossing her face. "Why would you lie to _me?_ Didn't I save you from Templars?"

"Because Rosa gets so bleeding _mad_ when I say too much," Tal told her, groaning. "She thinks there's enemies round every corner." The fire seemed to pulsate and he glared at it, perturbed. Blinking fiercely, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you mad?"

"A little," Zevanni said, brow furrowing. "But you can make it up to me if you tell me the truth."

Tal pinched his lips together, torn. After the silence stretched for a minute Zevanni reached over to his hand clasping the water skin and started to lift it. "You should give this to me, lethallin. You've had a little too much."

"What?" he asked. How much had he had? He couldn't recall. His mind was fuzzy, but at least he wasn't in pain. Sighing with relief at that thought, he let Zevanni take the wine. "You want some?"

"Of course," she said, flashing a grin before she took a long sip. After she'd finished, she said, "So, what's so bad about your _lenalin_ that you would lie about him?"

"Well," Tal grumbled, making a face. "He's an ass for one thing."

"And he wants the orb that belongs to this Revas guy—who _isn't_ your father and is actually back in the Hasmal Circle. Why?"

The hard note in her voice made Tal cringe. "No, you got it all confused." He shook his head. "Eolas doesn't want the orb. I did, so that my sister could give it to _lenalin._ "

Zevanni held up a palm in a gesture calling for silence. "Wait. Who is Eolas?" Her dark eyes were wide, lips parted.

" _Lenalin,"_ Tal answered. "He has a bunch of names. I'm named after him, you know."

Zevanni frowned, shaking her head. "That doesn't make sense, Tal."

"Sure it does," he protested. "See, my—"

"Tell me about your father. About Eolas," she said and, suddenly, pressed close to him. Tal felt her breath fanning over his cheek as she whispered into his ear. "I would be ever so grateful."

Tal's heart thundered in his ears and he suddenly felt flushed with heat of a very different kind. His head was dizzy, the world fuzzing in and out, but _nothing_ could dull his motivation for sex. He grinned. " _How_ grateful?"

Zevanni gripped his chin in her hand and turned his head away from her so she could access his ear. Her teeth and breath found his earlobe and Tal moaned. Her tongue traced over his ear tip before she nipped it. "Extremely grateful," she growled, low and husky.

A faint voice in the back of his head shouted warnings in Rosa's voice and chided him for being so clumsy. But every coherent thought that passed through Tal's mind seemed to slip away, like sand between his fingers. Actually, Dread Wolf take _sand,_ his thoughts were like _water_ leaking from a sieve. But Zevanni's mouth on his ear, her hand squeezing on his thigh, _that_ was far more motivating than half-formed thoughts, vague suspicion, and half-hearted fear. Zevanni had saved him from Templars and helped heal him as much as she could when he'd fallen from the pine tree.

And she'd been sending him less than subtle signals for three days now—certain _looks_ across the fire, roving eyes, and hands that touched him too often and lingered too long. Tal wasn't about to turn _that_ away, hot-blooded and virile and _young_ as he was.

Turning his head, Tal kissed her. Zevanni opened her mouth to him and Tal tasted her deeper, finding wine and mint mingling. It was tantalizing, addicting. But, sadly, it was over too soon. Zevanni pulled away from him and Tal moved after her, his lips questing for more, but she pressed a hand to his chest, holding him at bay. "Are you going to tell me the truth to make up for lying?" she asked.

Even with his heart pounding with arousal and his mind slow and fuzzy, Tal understood the tone underlying her words— _answer incorrectly and sex is off the table._ What would Zevanni care about his father, anyway? Only Rosa thought it was important. And it was, but only certain specific bits. Surely Tal could tell this woman who'd risked her life and her people's lives to rescue him those unimportant things.

"Yes," he told her, his voice husky.

* * *

"I have news, _hahren,"_ Zevanni's voice cut through the Fade, clipped and tight. Her expression, however, was one of triumph and amusement.

Solas eyed her, keeping his expression impassive. "Regarding?" he asked. They stood in the raw Fade, green ether curling around them and black rocks to either side, slick with moisture. A wisp trilled somewhere behind Solas, its ancient song caressing something deep within him and offering comfort, like a cat's purr. He'd had a long night of stalking through the mages and enchanters' dreams, searching for and planting seeds of unrest.

And, annoyingly, he still could not locate Felassan. He should have heard from his agent by now. His concern about that had driven him to reach out to his arcane warriors, Lyris and Mathrel, who'd woken from uthenera tombs in the Western Approach a little over a year ago. He'd assigned them to seek out all of the hidden Veil-strengthening artifacts scattered about Thedas and to disable them in preparation for whatever Solas planned next. They were quite a ways north of Orlais currently, but he'd asked them to seek Felassan out anyway with orders to kill him if he resisted or had nothing to show for all his time dallying.

The thought of killing his longtime friend still left his chest feeling tight, pained by the anticipation of grief. But now Zevanni was here to offer some much needed distraction, and her demeanor suggested he would appreciate her news.

A slow, sly grin spread over her lips. "Your favorite Dalish siblings, of course." She tucked her hands behind her back and thrust out her chin. "Tal sang for me like a bard tonight after I slipped him some pain-relieving—and inhibition destroying—mushrooms."

Solas frowned, disapproving of the tactic. "You could not learn what you needed simply by _seducing_ him?"

"I didn't want to risk failing," Zevanni said with a flippant shrug. "But I took precautions. He thinks he simply drank too much wine." She smirked. "At any rate, I doubt what he'll remember is _talking_ tonight."

Solas clenched his jaw, less than amused by her methods and hoping Tal had enjoyed himself and wouldn't regret his tussle in the furs with Zevanni. It was unlikely he'd view it as being taken advantage of, but that was the naivety and blindness of libido. Zevanni had done exactly that, using mushrooms and the lure of sex to get him to talk. It was despicable and regrettable, but Solas had not toppled Elvhenan without orchestrating a few nastier tricks.

"And what have you found?" Solas asked, diving straight to the point rather than letting shame eat at him with _how_ they had learned this new information.

Zevanni squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you recall the circumstances around the start of the Evanuris' civil war?"

"Yes," Solas said, a note of expectation in his voice. Zevanni was too young to actually have experienced the civil war, but Solas had served in it and had been exposed as an Evanuris himself over the course of the conflict. "Do you?" he asked her after a moment.

"I looked into it, of course," she replied with a nod. "It's all textbook to me, but I'm wondering if that's a blessing in disguise now. I learned details and didn't live through the distractions and scandal." Her dark eyes flashed. "Does the name _Eolas_ mean anything to you?"

The name translated roughly to _agent of knowledge._ Solas panned through his memory a moment before finding the connection. Eolas had been Dirthamen's son through an alliance via marriage with Falon'Din's favorite daughter, Eirlana. The marriage had failed spectacularly, however, when Eirlana accused Dirthamen of infidelity.

In a marriage of immortals, eternal monogamy was extremely rare, but most Elvhen abided by a contract where neither would take other lovers for a century or so. Dirthamen had broken that contract, insulting Eirlana and Falon'Din, causing scandal and strife. That drama only grew when Eirlana announced she was annulling their marriage and leaving with Dirthamen's infant son Eolas. Disgraced and humiliated, Dirthamen entered uthenera to let the scandal blow over. In the meantime, Eirlana and Eolas had met with a gruesome end, attacked and—supposedly—both killed.

Everyone at court and throughout Elvhenan whispered that Mythal and Elgar'nan orchestrated the attack on Eirlana to quiet the scandal and claim their grandson, Eolas, from Falon'Din's clutches. Even out in the wilds, Solas had overheard such gossip, though he cared little for it. Yet, whoever had attacked Eirlana _may_ have spared Eolas. The infant's body was never found and Mythal had adopted a proliferation of children from nobles and enemies alike around that time, as well as having another baby of her own. Solas hadn't given much consideration to the scandal or Eolas' possible survival as he'd been far more concerned with the consequences of Eirlana's death—because that had been what prompted Falon'Din to invade Dirthamen's lands. The civil war had started, effectively, because of Dirthmen and Eirlana's failed marriage.

"Yes," he hedged and frowned. "Are you suggesting that was the true name of the siblings' ancestor?"

Zevanni nodded. "But not just that. The sleeper that minx of yours in the tower told you about— _Ivun—_ wasn't some distant ancestor generations removed." She made a pointing gesture downward, as if indicating the sandy soil at their feet in the raw Fade. "His real name was _Eolas_ and he's their _father."_

"It may be an assumed name," Solas said, restraining the sudden chill that gripped him. Aliases were incredibly common in Elvhenan. Elvhen men and women frequently changed their names to better reflect their personalities and aspirations. Zevanni herself now used an Antivan-inspired name and not an Elvhen one. "Eolas was said to be dead, killed with Falon'Din's daughter." He paused a moment, considering. "It is also possible a modern Dalish man would use the name. Did Tal tell you that his father is Elvhen?"

Now Zevanni shook her head, lips pinching together. "No. He held that back, but it must be the answer." She held up her hand and began to count off reasons on her fingers. "First, Tal said his father has multiple names, but that Eolas was his birth name. Most Dalish don't have aliases like our people did." She ticked off her next finger. "Second, it explains how these two know that particular stealth spell. If Eolas is their father, Dirthamen is their grandfather."

"And Mythal and Elgar'nan are their great-grandparents," Solas concluded, nodding. "I _have_ found that both remind me of Mythal and her grandchildren a great deal."

Zevanni nodded firmly before continuing her argument. "Also, it explains how his sister can be as talented and educated as she is despite Dreamers being as good as extinct in this shem-world." She continued her countdown on her fingers, indicating her ring finger next. "And then there's the _fascinating_ bit Tal let slip about your orb."

Now Solas' head whipped up, eyes narrowing. "What of it?"

His agent smirked, smug with knowledge, her voice dropping into a silken purr. "Seems that Tal wanted to take it for his sister, supposedly so she could give it to their father. Seems odd, don't you think?"

Solas' skin prickled, going cold at this suggestion. Rosa and Tal _had_ expressed far too much interest in his orb. _Rosa will not betray me,_ he thought, trying to settle the grip of fear on his throat. "Indeed," he answered Zevanni blandly. "Is there more?"

"Not at the moment," she admitted, shoulders slumping slightly. "But I'm confident this Eolas must be a descendant of Dirthamen, raised by Mythal and probably forced into uthenera at some point before our rebellion."

"A tidy theory," Solas complimented her with a nod. "Except that I am unconvinced Eolas survived. Mythal raised hundreds of children and I acted as teacher to most of them from around that time. I would have met him and learned of his identity." _Mythal would have told me,_ he thought, even as he doubted his own dismissal of Zevanni's points. Mythal had manipulated him and hidden things before. Why not this? And perhaps she had simply omitted it as unimportant?

Zevanni cocked her head slightly to one side, lips pinched with consideration. "Are you _certain?"_ she challenged him.

"No," Solas admitted with a small sigh. "He would undoubtedly have been raised under another name as just one of Mythal's countless grandsons—adopted and otherwise." Something niggled him, like a thorn just under his skin. Frowning, he examined it, speaking his thoughts aloud. "Rosa seems to know little about the fall of Elvhenan. She says the sleeper did not witness it, or at least claimed not to. She does not know the Veil is artificial and she does not know the true reason the People are no longer immortal."

Zevanni grunted with interest. "Eolas either did not know you well at all and missed the fall… _or_ he deliberately misled his own children." Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

The darkness in Zevanni's eyes made Solas' blood run cold. They both knew he'd had more than a few bitter enemies from the court of Arlathan who, if they'd survived, would happily kill him for vengeance. They could have banded together just as Solas' people had and might have learned or anticipated that the Dread Wolf yet lived and plotted.

Solas' thoughts drifted to Mythal quickly. He'd reached out to her in the years or months—time was deceptive at best in uthenera—before waking and tried to consult her for guidance. But she'd been cagey with him in her current form and they'd mostly talked in circles around one another, trying to ferret out the other's plans.

Solas guessed that Mythal had a greater vendetta of vengeance against the Evanuris, though exactly what she planned remained unclear. Her desire to save the People was marginal as far as he could tell. His goals and Mythal's should align perfectly as killing the Evanuris would destroy the Veil and vice versa, but what if she actually wished the Veil to remain? What if she preferred _humans_ now and was willing to let the People die their slow death without the Fade? In that case…could she actually _oppose_ him? What if Elvhen such as this Eolas were her sleeper agents, just as Zevanni, Felassan, Lyris, and Mathrel were his?

But none of that answered Zevanni's question. Yet, the answer seemed obvious to Solas. "Perhaps he would mislead his children to protect them—on the off chance they encountered someone serving _me."_

Zevanni nodded. "I assume if Rosa had shown more knowledge regarding the fall you would have eliminated her by now."

Solas inclined his head but didn't acknowledge her observation as the truth it was. In truth, he still feared he would have to _eliminate_ Rosa as Zevanni had put it. But there was another prospect as well and he seized upon it, saying, "It may also be that Rosa has misled me. Whatever her parentage, she has been cautioned against revealing herself. My hope is she does not understand that _Fen'Harel_ is a possible danger and is merely wary."

"Then you believe my theory after all?" Zevanni prodded, smirking with success.

"It explains a great deal," Solas hedged. "But we cannot be certain until we either find the siblings' father or they decide to enlighten us." This theory _did_ however suggest a reason why the Formless One wanted Rosa and Tal so badly. Two of its weaker brethren, Fear and Deceit, had been bound as ravens by Dirthamen using blood—and hadn't Rosa told a tale of two ravens that spoke to her in a dream? Releasing them would require the blood of a relative and apparently the Formless One believed grandchildren would do the trick. It also could answer the mystery of who had been in the Fade meeting with the Formless One when Solas sought the demon out alone. On that note…

"Is their father still alive?" Solas asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Yes, I believe so. I could venture into Tal's dreams…" Zevanni offered, a note of eagerness in her voice.

"No," Solas told her with a cut of his hand through the air, firm and authoritative. "Do not engage him in the dreaming. Probe him as you have already done in the waking world if you must, but be careful. Do not alienate him and treat him well. We do not know that they serve our enemies." He leveled a hard stare at her. "Remember that."

"Of course, _hahren,_ " Zevanni said, smiling. "I will do as you say."

* * *

Elven Used

Lenalin: male parent

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Solas watched the wisplike essence as it rose over his head, fluttering and flickering. He felt his eyes burning with unshed tears as he watched it, frowning with impotent rage. _Why?_ He railed inwardly as he glared out his grief at this last bit of essence from his old friend. _Why did you force me to do this, Felassan?_

* * *

A/N: Reading the chapter preview..."Dammit Solas!" Anyway, BIG reveal this chapter, though I suspect all of you saw the Evanuris connection coming.

Zevanni taking advantage of Tal is pretty despicable, but I think a lot of young people, particularly boys, wouldn't see it as "taking advantage." Not that men wouldn't or shouldn't feel violated in a situation like this, but I'm basing Tal's reaction in future chapters off a real life example of a guy I know well. The real life scenario didn't involve drugs, but it's close enough that I think there's a parallel and Tal's young, sexually free mindset. That may change over time as he matures though...

The end is rapidly approaching, everyone! This story is finished for me, written to completion at 35 chapters and an epilogue I think. As shit starts hitting the fan for Rosa and Solas in the tower, my biggest secret will be unveiled. And, for all you smut-lovers, next chapter marks the first **NSFW!**

* * *


	28. The Slow Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felassan: …you're doing good work. And the day when you can accept that they'll never really understand, or appreciate it, or know just how much you did…  
> Briala: What? Is that the day it gets easier?  
> Felassan: Mythal's bosom, no! Honestly, it makes your heart shrivel up and die inside you. Put it off as long as you can.
> 
> (We get TWO quotes for this chapter, because reasons!)  
> Draw your last breath, my friends.  
> Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
> Rest at the Maker's right hand,  
> And be Forgiven.  
> The Chant of Light—Trials 1:16
> 
> Solas meets his wayward agent Felassan in the Fade, with tragic consequences. Rosa tries to comfort Solas after his loss, bringing their simmering relationship to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!

Seagulls shrilled overhead as Solas opened his eyes in the Fade. The sky was overcast with low-hanging clouds scudding over the rocky escarpments around him. Rain lashed down the gullies, running in rivulets and singing its musical, wet song.

He could feel the presence of a Dreamer and knew it'd be Rosa even before he turned and saw her sitting beneath the dark shadow of a massive pine. She was dry despite the constant drizzle, overlooking the Waking Sea crashing on the rock formations below. The loamy grass underfoot was soft and wet, but also cold as Solas walked to the pine she sat under.

Before ducking beneath it to join her, Solas willed away the cold rain gradually drenching him. As he crawled under the branches to sit beside her, Rosa shot him a bright smile. "You're stronger everyday, flat-ear," she teased. "Still doing Enchanter Varian's exercises?"

"Of course," he answered as he settled next to her. "But willing away the rain is hardly a challenge and I have been able to accomplish that for weeks." His attempt at humility was mostly a diversion to prevent her from perceiving how powerful he could become. Inwardly he bubbled with joy and relief at how easily he could manipulate the Fade now. It was still not as it had been while he slept in uthenera, but it was enough that he could be truly dangerous once more.

She smirked. "It's not just that. Every night your presence is bigger too."

"You flatter me," Solas said, keeping his voice light even as his muscles snapped taut.

"Maybe," she said and winked at him.

The flirt eased his tension and Solas chuckled. Silence descended on them as they stared out at the Waking Sea, rough with whitewater as waves crashed in with a steady, rhythmic roar. The sun peaked through the clouds a moment and, without the drizzle, Solas could even think this place beautiful—except that they had work to do.

"This is lovely, _vhenan,"_ he told her softly. "Yet I wonder if our night might be better spent planning."

It had been five days now since the Templars had confined all mages and apprentices to their quarters unless they had specific classes to attend. Solas' only respite from his two roommates in that time had been Enchanter Varian's course and the smattering of other classes not involving actual magic use. The Templars seemed afraid that letting their charges practice combat would encourage trouble. It made for excruciatingly long days, filled with boredom and bickering from his roommates. For Rosa it was much the same, except that she had been hard at work prepping the knockout powder they'd use during their escape and when they destroyed their phylacteries.

Rosa sighed. "Did I ever tell you I spent a miserable winter here alone before Tal and I joined each other?"

"No," Solas replied. "I cannot imagine it is more pleasant in the winter."

"It's not," she confirmed, grimacing. "But this is where I had to wait." She sat forward, raising her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Resting her chin on her knees, she stared out at the waves and the sky, her expression both sad and angry at once.

"Wait for what?" Solas prompted her, his voice gentle.

Her jaw clenched and a muscle flared in her temple. "My mentor. _Ghilin._ The man who taught me how to walk the Fade and how to stay safe from demons."

"A Dreamer," Solas concluded. "I had wondered how you learned what you know in this age when our kind is so rare." _Is this your father?_ He wondered but didn't ask, too fearful of drawing her suspicion and inadvertently silencing her.

"Yes," she said, frowning. "He's a Dreamer. I sought him out in the dreaming when I was first banished from my clan. I thought he could help me with Rogathe." She rocked slightly in place, still holding her knees to her chest. "He said he could and that he'd meet me here that winter. So, I walked from the Brecilian forest to the shores of the Waking Sea. After I got here I found an abandoned cabin and I waited. And waited." Her voice dropped into a growl. "And waited. Until winter became spring and I lost all hope."

" _Ir abelas, vhenan,"_ Solas told her and, slowly, reached over to lay a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. After a moment of respectful silence he asked, "Do you know what became of him?"

"I thought he was dead," Rosa said and her voice broke, croaking. Her eyes were dry, however, as she said, "But…" She shook her head, anger and bitterness twisting her features. "That spring he found me in the dreaming. He wasn't dead. He'd just abandoned me. Again."

Solas sighed, finding himself at a loss for words. He wanted to offer his sympathies again but the words seemed hollow. At least death was beyond the realm of control, but abandonment? And, aside from the depressing tale, Solas couldn't stop the gears inside his own mind from turning as he wondered at Rosa's motives for sharing this with him. Yet, he thought he could hazard a guess, considering both her clan and this mentor she'd mentioned had abandoned Rosa in one form or another. It'd be natural to fear it happening again.

"What has brought this to mind, _vhenan?"_ he asked her tenderly, squeezing her shoulder once more.

She turned her head now; brow furrowed and eyes dark. "I'm going to sneak out tonight for the blood lotus," she said quietly. "And…" She swallowed, her throat bobbing. "I just…I wish things had gone differently and yet, if they had, I wouldn't be here. If my mentor hadn't abandoned me here I wouldn't have met you. And…I'm not sure if I ever thanked you properly for everything you've done for me and Tal."

Solas smiled at her, feeling that dangerous warmth rising in his chest. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek, caressing it gently. "No thanks is needed," he murmured. "Though it is, of course, appreciated."

Rosa let her knees go and rotated slightly to face him directly, leaning close. Her forehead and nose touched his and for a few moments they stayed motionless and silent, sharing the same air. Then Rosa took in a shaky breath and asked, "Where will you go when we escape the tower?"

 _Ah,_ Solas thought, restraining the desire to wince. _There it is._

"I do not yet know with certainty," he replied in a near-whisper. "But I must find my friends who have also woken from uthenera."

"And then…?" she asked, one hand traveling to his neck and laying against the narrow bit of skin left exposed by his robes.

"That remains unclear," Solas hedged and forced himself to chuckle mildly. "Perhaps I will wander the wilds and search for others like myself that we might preserve something of what was." He paused a beat and then, fighting the press of his own frustration at how little he could offer her without giving himself away, he blurted, "Would you like to join me, _vhenan?_ "

Rosa drew back from him, her violet eyes searching over his face as her lips parted with what he took to be surprise. "I have to see Tal to a clan first, but…"

"Then perhaps I will accompany you. If not, I will find you in the dreaming after a few months," Solas told her. "And we can coordinate from there." His heart pounded as he swung between believing he truly would do as he'd said and the certainty that he would abandon her—just as the mentor she'd mentioned had.

Her eyes flicked over him, searching. Her mouth quirked at the edges and Solas read it as doubt, but an instant later she smiled and leaned in to kiss him. Solas pressed closer, deepening the kiss and shifting to try and pull her into his lap. The last five days had had not nearly enough of _this_ and far too much boredom. But all too soon Rosa placed a restraining hand on his chest, pushing him back into the trunk of the pine behind him.

"I have to go steal some blood lotus," she told him, her voice husky and her eyes warm with affection and desire. "But I might get lost on my way back," she purred as she nipped at his chin and then his lips. "And wind up in your chambers instead of mine for a while…"

"Is that so?" he asked, feeling his body react to her words with a jolt of delicious anticipation, but he held it in check, worried for the risk it would put her in. "As much as I'd enjoy your company, I'd advise you against getting lost in such a way. I have two roommates and one of them isn't fond of you."

Rosa snorted. "And _I_ have a lovely sleep spell to keep your roommates knocked out." She shrugged, grinning. "Besides, I need a spot to grind the blood lotus and mix it. Dealing with two roommates instead of three and adding a helper sounds like a great tradeoff for the risks." Her fingers caressed his ear, slow and teasing. "This could be our only chance…"

Solas' heart pounded as he smiled and kissed her, hard and fast, his breathing already too quick. When he pulled back from her, Solas said, "I cannot prevent you from getting lost, _vhenan…_ " Sobering, he cupped her cheeks in both of his hands and murmured, "But be careful. Be safe, my love."

She flashed a playful grin. "You got it, flat-ear."

* * *

Tal shot awake with a gasp, kicking and slapping at the furs over him. His heart pounded and his mouth was dry, tasting of bitterness like ash. Eyes burning, he snuffled and grunted, struggling to get to his feet. He left his bedroll behind, stumbling his way to the tree he and Zevanni had bedded down beside. He snatched it with his good left arm.

The cold night air set him shivering and his collarbone ached, raw from his incautious thrashing. His right arm was still strapped to his side, but that hardly seemed to help him avoid stressing it over the last few days between hard riding on the halla and his nightly rolls between the furs with Zevanni. Glancing backward, Tal saw his bedroll behind him in the frosted grass, bear and wolf pelts scattered about. Beside his bedroll lay Zevanni's, and she hadn't stirred despite Tal's noisiness.

 _A Dreamer,_ he thought and frowned with confusion. His mind was muddled by sleep and by his dreams, but it wasn't Zevanni who'd forced her way into his sleep tonight—it'd been his father. This hadn't been the gentle meshing of dreams he was accustomed to with Rosa and Revas. This was the hard, unyielding grip of a longtime master rapping a wayward student's knuckles. His father had not done this since Tal's childhood when he had used it as a means of punishment when Tal misbehaved.

 _Void take you,_ lenalin, he thought and shook his head as though he could clear it that way. Using his talents as a Dreamer, his father had shaped the Fade with a message and emotions that impacted Tal like the stones bullies had thrown at him as a boy. Yet, as irritated as he was by the insistent, insensitive intrusion, he was also grateful. His father's words still rang in his mind, jumbled and thick with emotion transmitted by the Fade. Tal still had to work much of it out, but the gist of it was clear and undeniable.

_You are among enemies._

_More than that,_ Tal thought as he bit back his groan. _I'm fucking the enemy._

Still shivering, Tal let go of the tree trunk he'd been clinging to and returned to his bedroll to snatch up the bear pelt. It was difficult and awkward getting it around his shoulders with only one arm, but he managed it better now than he had in the first days after his injury. He breathed deeply and waited for the chill to withdraw before reaching within himself to siphon off a bit of mana to cast heat over himself. The bear pelt would hold that heat in and warm him as well as any fire.

Zevanni still didn't stir where she lay, her breath whistling in a slow, relaxed rhythm. Tal lingered beside his bedroll, clutching the bear pelt and considering the woman sleeping there. She'd been kind to him, providing willow bark and other painkillers and sleep-aids to make him comfortable. According to Zevanni, Tal had actually injured himself so badly when he fell from the tree that he likely would have died if she and the other marauders hadn't been present. Broken ribs, she claimed, and a bump to the head. She and the other mages within her group had expended all of their mana healing the more serious injuries and left the collarbone broken as a result.

 _Will she finish healing me if I ask?_ Tal wondered. Or would she make some excuse because she wanted to keep treating him? _Drugging_ him, really. Tal had warped memories from the night he'd consumed the herb—or was it a mushroom?—she'd offered in addition to the willow bark and wine. He had a vague sense of shame and guilt from that night, but Zevanni had never tried to pressure him to consume it and when he rejected it now she made no protests. And, reassuringly, she'd eagerly taken him to bed every night since then. _That_ was primarily what he remembered and why he still smiled looking at her.

Turning to scan the rest of the scattered marauders, Tal saw a few tiny campfires through the underbrush and heard muffled conversations. How hard would it be to slip away from these elves? He had a pack with a bit of dried venison, a water skin, and a hunting knife provided by the marauders. With his bedroll and the bear pelt he'd have enough to survive on his own for a few days, but…

Everything he'd seen of this group so far seemed to indicate they fully intended to deliver him to a clan and not to some torture chamber or underground lair. That very evening they'd begun scouting through the woodlands of this area, searching for signs of a clan as Zevanni claimed there was one nearby. Throughout his time with these marauding elves Tal had been free to come and go as he pleased and not, ostensibly, placed under any watch. Zevanni tended to keep him close by, it was true, yet she'd also cautioned him repeatedly against growing emotionally attached to her—that their nighttime encounters were entirely casual. That seemed too honest to Tal to be nefarious or suspicious.

And yet his father's warning repeated in his head, echoing: _You are among enemies._

Staring at Zevanni again, Tal frowned as he contemplated his current position. Some of his father's message was still jumbled and confused. Likely, it'd remain that way for the rest of the night. But nowhere in it did Tal find an instinct to flee. It was just a warning that danger could lie ahead. Leaving would also inevitably bring danger, too. Sneaking away from these elves might well make his situation a lot worse by drawing their suspicions. And if he didn't find a clan quickly his collarbone would hamper his chances of survival while alone, limiting his ability to fight.

Letting out a breath, Tal made his decision. He would remain with these elves, for now. But he would be cautious and vigilant.

Returning to his bedroll, Tal lay down and made himself comfortable beneath his furs, snuggled close to Zevanni as though nothing had changed within his mind regarding her. As he shut his eyes and felt sleep sneaking up on him, another thought leapt into his mind suddenly out of the confused mass of emotions and words from his father. _Tell Rosa to open her dreams to me—and if she will not listen, tell her she is in danger as well._

That didn't make much sense. How could Rosa be in danger from the marauders?

Sleep took him before he could puzzle out a satisfactory answer.

* * *

When Solas felt the tug of the Fade, trying to draw him to meet with another, he initially resisted the call. There was little time left until he hoped Rosa would waken him after retrieving the blood lotus. In that time he'd reached far across Thedas to draw Lyris and Mathrel, the arcane warriors, to himself for an update on their new assignment to find Felassan. But he had barely gotten past pleasantries with the bonded pair before he felt that tether on his spirit, trying to draw him away. A weaker Dreamer would have succumbed—and mere days or weeks ago, Solas would have as well—but he overruled that tug with a slight flick of one hand long enough to bid the arcane warriors goodnight.

Then, letting the Fade warp and change, Solas allowed himself to be drawn to whoever had tried to summon him. Lyris and Mathrel's desert camp vanished and the Fade grew dark and brooding around him. Gradually the Fade shaped itself into a simple pastoral scene of rolling, grassy hills beneath a cold, starry sky. Snow lay in the sheltered hollows of hills and in the shadow of trees dotting the ridge off to Solas' right. A campfire sat in front of him a few meters, a familiar hooded figure standing in the circle of orange light.

_Felassan._

Solas lingered in the darkness, staring somberly at the other man. He touched his core, feeling the healthy supply of mana there, but he didn't draw it. Not yet. Still, Felassan would sense his quiet, deadly readiness in the stillness about him. Solas knew Felassan must have bad news based on his stiff stance and the tight set of his features.

"I have the passphrase for the eluvians," Felassan said, breaking the silence.

Solas kept his expression neutral, though inside he felt a jolt of shock. He'd expected failure after his agent's extended absence. In fact, he'd been certain Felassan had gone rogue entirely after failing or refusing to claim the eluvians in Orlais. To have Felassan face him now, reporting success yet with such a grim posture and mood, made no sense…

Until Felassan added, "But I will not give it to you." His voice was hard and dry. "Not unless you agree to my terms."

Solas' mind spun and his heart hammered. Fire scorched his blood, burning with outrage at this defiance. Still, he remained motionless, aware that Felassan would be bracing himself for attack. He'd know this act would ensure his death at Solas' hands. Why would he do this? Did he _want_ to die? What was he up to? Had he heard somehow of Solas' weakness upon waking and hoped to kill him?

Felassan inhaled deeply and, dipping his chin, he lifted one hand slowly to tug his hood backward. His hair was pale, cropped short up front but tied off in the back. At his friend's temples, Solas saw the sheen of silver where he'd gone gray.

"First," Felassan said, "I—"

Solas Fade-stepped forward in a blue streak. Popping out of it he launched an ice spike at Felassan, who had reacted with admirable quickness, tossing up a barrier and rolling in a dodge. Solas erected his own barrier with a gesture of one hand while the other cast winter's grasp with just enough mana that he could break Felassan's barrier. He knew from long years of practice exactly how strong Felassan tended to cast his barriers.

His old student refreshed his barrier even as Solas felt his presence diminishing—he was trying to retreat, to flee. Solas concentrated on the Fade, willing it to harden its grip on Felassan, trapping him. In battle between two Dreamers, Solas would always be the victor—assuming he possessed a fraction of his full strength. This battle might be a greater challenge than he'd like to admit, but Felassan had to have known escape was unlikely when he came.

Felassan tried to Fade-step away, but Solas willed the Fade to rise up in barren, rocky walls all around them. The grassy hills of this dream shivered as granite walls, black and shiny as obsidian, jutted from the ground. Felassan cursed under his breath as he met with one wall.

He spun about to face Solas anew, crouching into a battle ready posture. "This world deserves a chance," Felassan shouted, his face warping the vallaslin on his cheeks and forehead. "They are greater than you know!"

 _They do not deserve your sacrifice,_ Solas thought, feeling a pain in his chest as he cast winter's grasp again with a clench of his fist. He saw the spell impact his old friend; saw his barrier shimmer and break. In the same instant Solas reached inward for a massive amount of mana to shape a mindblast. Unleashing it with a sharp _boom_ that ricocheted from the granite rock walls around them, Solas felt a wave of dizziness and heat swarm over him like a thousand insect legs as mana burnout threatened him—but he knew he had succeeded. A mindblast of that magnitude and at this close range would kill anyone short of an Evanuris.

The mindblast hit Felassan before he could re-erect his barrier and he gave a strangled cry, collapsing onto the grass in a heap. Blood began to pool from his eyes, to dribble from his ears, nose, and mouth. He shuddered, struggling to breathe even as the life rapidly fled from him.

Had Solas been merely another sleeper, this encounter would prove harmless, as Felassan would simply awaken in his bed. This was, after all, merely a dream. But a Dreamer's power lied in his or her connection to the Fade and the ability to make their will become reality more than the average mage. In attacking Felassan and simply _wishing_ him dead, Solas made it come true. Felassan, Rosa, and Zevanni all had the same power to kill in this manner. In the waking world Felassan would simply appear to have died in his sleep.

Shoulders heaving, Solas felt pressure mounting behind his eyes. Gnashing his teeth, he held back his fury and his grief. Refusing to look away from what he had done to one of his oldest and truest friends, Solas strode forward over the grass. Felassan's breath gurgled and his eyes, crimson with the blood leaking from him, fluttered. He tried to speak and one hand shot out, pawing at the grass near Solas' feet.

" _Ir…abelas,"_ he managed to spit out wetly, around the blood choking him.

With his mana recovered enough, Solas quickly cast winter's grasp again. _Die now,_ he willed Felassan, and felt his own chest constricting with despair and loss. _Die in the numbness of cold that your suffering may end swiftly,_ falon.

The frost covered Felassan and he stilled. The weighty presence of him within the Fade changed rather than dissipating or disappearing. Solas saw a glimmer of green-white flutter over Felassan's body and then lift away from it, like an ember rising up from the heat of a campfire. Felassan's body vanished with a faint hissing sound, burning away in green fire.

Solas saw the wisplike essence as it rose over his head, fluttering and flickering. He felt his eyes burning with unshed tears as he watched it, frowning with impotent rage. _Why?_ He railed inwardly as he glared out his grief at this last bit of essence from his old friend. _Why did you force me to do this, Felassan?_

" _Ir abelas,"_ he told the wisp, his voice croaking and hoarse. Those had been Felassan's last words, but Solas suspected they hadn't been aimed at himself. More likely he thought of Briala, his ward. Swallowing, he felt a hot ache in his throat. " _Da'len,_ I will miss you," he murmured, wondering if it understood him, if it knew who he was or who it had been. For all the knowledge of Elvhenan, even they did not know what awaited the souls of the departed, only that they disappeared into the Fade.

The green-white mist flickered and then drifted slowly toward the black granite rocks, passing effortlessly through them. Solas waved a hand to dismiss the rocks and they disappeared, leaving only Fade-ether. Through that haze, Solas saw the soul gliding away, into the darkness of the Beyond.

He felt a hot tear fall from his eye and sighed, dropping his chin. _"Dareth shiral,_ Fenesvir, _"_ he said, using the name Felassan had adopted in Elvhenan after pledging his fealty to Fen'Harel.

Alone now in the Fade, Solas scrubbed at his face and drew in a wet, shaky breath. Grief and loss overpowered the outrage and anger he'd felt earlier, but he didn't regret his decision, only that it had been necessary.

Felassan's death was _his_ fault, as most things were. Solas had been the one to send him out of uthenera so long ago and in that time Felassan had been swayed by this modern world. Perhaps he had faced the truth of this world as a real place, filled with real people whose lives were just as vibrant and worthwhile as any in Elvhenan, and could not bring himself to carry on.

Felassan had always been a freethinker, clever and witty, compassionate and yet also ruthless when he needed to be. He was the ideal agent, friend, and student. In some ways, Felassan had been the son or younger brother Solas had never had. Of course he would begin to doubt their purpose. Solas had been a fool to not have seen it sooner and recall him from Orlais.

Recalling his own situation in the tower, with Rosa possibly on her way with the blood lotus, Solas swallowed hard on his grief and cast a small flame in one fist. Bouncing it from one finger to the next in a relaxation exercise, Solas let his mind empty. Gradually breathing no longer hurt and the painful ache in his throat eased.

Like Felassan he had had to face the reality of this world as _meaningful_ , but unlike him, Solas knew he could not, _would_ not waver. He couldn't give in or give up. Felassan had that option, though he'd had to face the consequences for it. Solas did not. As the sole remaining Evanuris, alive, intact, and uncorrupted, he alone held the power to tear down the Veil and reshape this world. The responsibility fell on him. Alone. Just as he had created this world, he would destroy it.

His hands were sticky with the blood already on them—the blood of all Elvhenan. Every elf who lived and died after he sundered the world with the blighted Veil did so because of what _he_ had done. All who sweated and toiled in Tevinter or in alienages across Thedas had _him_ to thank for their misery. They would have to suffer even more before things could be righted, but Solas _could not_ fail.

It was the only reason he remained alive.

* * *

Clutching the pouch she'd stuffed the stolen blood lotus into, Rosa held all of her concentration on preserving the stealth spell as a Templar tromped past her hiding spot. She'd evaded five such guards as she made her way through the silent, abandoned halls of the Hasmal Circle. The Tranquil had a storage area in the ninth level of the tower, making her journey there from the sixth level a rather dangerous hike. So far, however, everything had gone smoothly.

She was pressed into an alcove with a chair and a bookshelf beside a window, lit by a glow lamp. This was the seventh floor, just beyond the stairwell. Solas' room was on this floor, if she could just get to it. This particular stairwell had deposited her in the men's side of the tower, thankfully ensuring she wouldn't have to go through the gut-wrenching stress of picking the locked door separating men from women.

With the Templar descending down to patrol the sixth level men's rooms, well out of range now, Rosa exhaled and released the stealth spell. Tiptoeing from her alcove, she moved as swiftly but silently as she could, eyes flicking over the closed doors of each room. She would have only a few minutes before the Templar would swing through for another pass on his rounds. It should be more than long enough for her to pick the lock on Solas' door and let herself in.

At the door she dropped to her knees and gripped the leather pouch holding the blood lotus between her teeth. Grabbing the filed down butter knife from where she'd tucked it into her belt, Rosa slid it into the lock. Exhaling to calm her pounding heart, she wiggled her wrist until she felt the metal mechanism inside give way a bit and turned it. Another quick tap and a jiggle of the knife and she completed the turn. The door clacked as it unlocked and she winced at the noise but turned the handle quickly and stepped inside.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint milky light of the moon streaming in through their tiny porthole window. All three men remained asleep despite the noise she'd made at their door. Relieved, she let out a breath and gently yanked the butter knife from the door, pushing it shut as softly as she could.

Tucking the butter knife away again into her belt, Rosa strode quick and quiet to the desk under their window and deposited the leather pouch of blood lotus there. Then, fishing inside her robes, she produced several other small bags full of the individual components for the knockout powder. Once that was finished, Rosa whipped around to deal with Solas' roommates.

Summoning up her mana, she shaped the sleeping spell in her mind, channeling it through her body and into her hands. Kneeling beside Adwen's bed first, she frowned at the sleeping elf, remembering how he'd cursed her for still being here when Tal had been sent away. Adwen lay face up, eyeballs rolling under his lids as he dreamed. Rosa laid her fingers over his face—thumb and pinky to his cheeks while the other three rested on his forehead. Her fingertips gleamed white and Adwen let out a little gasp before his body went limp once more as sleep became unconsciousness. The spell would last about four hours with the amount of mana she'd funneled into it. On feather-soft footfalls, Rosa moved to Francis' bed next and repeated the same trick. The human mage snored softly before and after she placed the spell on him.

Breathing out with true relief now, Rosa turned her attention to Solas. Like his roommates, Solas lay deep asleep, breathing in a slow rhythm. He lay on his back, his covers tucked up to his collarbone and his hands resting over it.

 _Just like uthenera,_ she thought, smiling as she recalled the sketches her mother had drawn detailing just that pose. The ancients slept so deeply, so completely, that their physical bodies did not move.

She stayed at his bedside, watching his face as he slept for a time as wonder made her feel lightheaded. Despite the fact that she knew Eolas had endured the long sleep too, he had none of the mystique that Solas did—probably because he inspired so many _negative_ emotions in her now. She thought of him as mentor, father, and _harellan._ His past had far less bearing on her present than Solas' did. Solas had trusted her so much faster than her own father had, after all.

As if to dispel her wonder, Solas' brow furrowed in his sleep and he made a noise of distress in his throat. The fingers of one hand flicked, one right after another. His lips quirked downward and his chin wrinkled, as if with grief.

"What are you dreaming?" she whispered in the dark, shaking her head with curiosity. "What chases you, _vhenan?"_ He showed no sign of reacting to her voice so, after a few more moments, Rosa gripped his hands in her own and leaned down to press her lips to his, hoping to waken him gently out of whatever troubling situation he found himself in.

After a few soft kisses and squeezes of his hand, Rosa felt him flinch, his body tensing as he snapped awake with a slight gasp. She pulled back from him, smiling broadly as she laid one hand over his cheek. "I told you I'd be careful, flat-ear," she teased. "I have the blood lotus and both of your roommates are out cold."

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he rolled his head into her touch. " _Ma serannas, vhenan."_

She shifted, crawling into the bed. It was hardly big enough to hold them, however, so she made herself comfortable laying half on him and half off. Laying her ear against his chest, she heard his heartbeat pounding away like the drums her clan had played during times of celebration. She shivered as he wrapped one arm about her waist and the other traced over her ear. "What were you up to in the Fade?" she asked gently. "You didn't look happy."

He sighed and in it she heard the unmistakable sound of despair. "I would rather not discuss it, _vhenan."_

Rosa closed her eyes, feeling her stomach clench with a strange foreboding. She did _not_ like that answer. Swallowing that reaction down, she asked, "Are you okay? Will you tell me that at least?" She laid her hand over the other half of his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. "I can tell you're hurting."

"I will endure," he answered, still stroking her back and her ear. His voice was faraway and strained.

The sound of his pain made her heart squeeze with sympathy. Lifting her head, Rosa peered at him through the dark, seeing the bright glimmer of moisture in his eyes. Brow furrowing, she reached out and caressed his cheek, fingers trailing to his ear. "I'm here for you, _vhenan,_ " she whispered softly. "Whatever troubles you, let me know. _Sathan._ I want to help. _"_

Solas let out a long breath, eyes closing. "I learned that a close friend of mine has died," he murmured, his voice hoarse and deep with his grief.

She rubbed her thumb gently over his cheek as she said, _"Ir abelas, vhenan,_ for your loss." Falling silent, she watched as his eyes opened and stared at her, his lips parted slightly. She sighed with regret, shaking her head. "Words are so hollow, aren't they?"

Leaning down to touch her forehead with his, to share his air as they breathed together, she wished she could let him feel the pain of empathy burning inside her. She could guess that this friend he spoke of was Elvhen like him. Any friend's death would be tragic, but losing one of the People, especially a survivor like Solas, was truly worthy of despair. Sadly, there was just no easy way to assuage such grief and considering it only stirred a faint anger inside Rosa at the thought of all that the People had lost at the hands of _shemlen_ and the cold cruelty of fate.

Swallowing back that anger to focus on Solas, Rosa said, "When I was a little girl the Keeper was an old man, strong and unbowed. I called him _babae_ and I loved him. But one day, when he was in the _shemlen_ settlement trading, a dog with the water sickness bit him on the arm. We knew he would die if we didn't cut off his arm. It was only a matter of time."

She let out a shaky breath as she continued to stare in Solas' eyes. "Our hunters took his arm, but something went wrong while he was healing. He just collapsed in his aravel and there was nothing ma—" She broke off, pinching her lips together as she committed to speaking the truth aloud at last: that her mother had been her Keeper, the one who banished her. "There was nothing mamae, his First, could do to save him. I cried so hard when we laid him to rest, but mamae told me as long as I remembered him, babae was never truly gone."

Sniffing, she smiled at him, though she knew it'd be bittersweet. "So, I guess the only thing I can tell you now is what she told me. As long as you remember your friend, they're never really gone." She let out a soft chuckle, blinking to hold back the burning of tears behind her eyes. "Babae wore Dirthamen's vallaslin and prayed to him everyday. I chose my vallaslin to honor _him_ as much as Dirthamen."

Solas smiled back at her, though it wavered. He brushed at her hair and then his warm fingers moved to trace her vallaslin. "A beautiful sentiment, _vhenan,"_ he whispered softly. "And true, although it will take some time for me to recall my friend with anything but despair." He drew in a wavering breath. "For now, I wish only to focus on our own survival."

"Then I have some blood lotus that needs to be ground," she suggested, tilting her head to one side. "If you're up for it."

"I am indeed," Solas agreed.

Rosa grinned then and half-rolled, half-slid from his bed, moving over to the leather pouches she'd left on the table beneath the window. She found the blood lotus and picked it up, turning to pass it to Solas only to pause as she saw him rise from his bed and found herself distracted by his relative state of undress. His breeches didn't go past his knees and his nightshirt was too big, likely fitted for a human. None of it hid the sharp definition of his muscles and she smirked with appreciation.

"You're still filling out," she observed, her voice dropping into a lower register, flirting.

Solas let out a small chuckle. "There is little to do trapped in this room but to eat and exercise." His blue eyes were suddenly hungry looking at her, though she knew that it wasn't the mention of food that'd inspired it. "And to wait for nightfall and the chance to meet with you."

After turning at the waist to place the leather bag of blood lotus back on the desk, Rosa took a few steps closer to him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly. "Maybe the blood lotus can wait," she suggested in a sultry voice.

She'd seen grief and rage assuaged by the slaking of desire before in her clan after a loved one's death or a dispute between partners. It was as if one strong emotion beget and fueled another. Survivors of a massacre, like the one that'd befallen her clan, would turn to one another for solace and in the love borne of their loss they'd bring forth new hope in the form of children. And for those who'd been ruled by rage they often craved the respite of passion.

In Solas she could almost feel both—a man who'd lived alone and in war, and faced grief countless times over as battle claimed the lives of his friends and family. Her own heart battered against her breastbone, full to the brim with empathy at the thought. Immortal and long-lived as he was, Rosa was certain her life had been similar in its own way. She had spent her short time in this world learning to be the best she could be to protect her clan, and she had not flinched when the moment came to fulfill her purpose. And now, banished, she was like Solas again in finding herself adrift. Just as he had no empire, no Creator to serve with Mythal's passing, she had no clan to protect and no Keeper to serve.

It was comforting to see such similarities, even though they were otherwise so different.

Solas seemed to hesitate, his gaze dropping repeatedly to her lips as he considered. For as much passion as he displayed when he finally made up his mind, he was incredibly reserved too. His eyes flew to the window behind her, and Rosa knew he must be estimating how much longer they'd have before dawn.

Chuckling, Rosa moved closer to him and laid a hand over his chest as she leaned close to one ear to whisper, "We have time, flat-ear." She brushed her nose and lips over his earlobe. "Trust me."

He made a low noise in his throat and turned his head to capture her lips in a fierce, fiery kiss. Rosa responded in kind, pressing closer and parting her lips. His tongue swept into her mouth, hungry and needy as he tasted her. Breath whistling fast as her stomach flip-flopped with excitement and her heart pounded, Rosa wrapped her arms around his neck and sucked on his tongue and his lips.

Solas' hands wound about her waist, dropping low to her ass to pull her flush with him. Rosa arched her back to meet him with vigor. The pleasurable ache inside her tightened, coiling on itself with want. She could feel his body responding in kind, his hardening cock in his thin, flimsy breeches flattened against her navel and hot even through the fabric.

Trying to bring him still closer, Rosa propped her leg up, winding it around his hips. Solas gripped her thigh, sliding his fingers upward and pushing her robes aside to expose her bare skin. His fingers traced their way over her flesh, sending tingles of pleasure zipping through her as he went, crawling steadily higher. She broke the sloppy kiss to moan and he made a noise of satisfaction in his throat, smug at the reaction he'd drawn from her.

Laughing with delight, Rosa decided two could play that game. She nibbled at his neck and her hands dropped to his waist, sliding easily beneath his loose nightshirt to tease her nails up his abdomen and to his chest. He gasped through clenched teeth, shivering, and Rosa felt his skin dimple with gooseflesh. His breath was hot in her ear as he cursed, _"Fenedhis."_

 _You can say that again,_ she thought, grinning as she found his lips again for another prolonged, sloppy kiss. He was still too lean, apparently, as she could feel pronounced ribs, but he had the muscles of a warrior and a frame that put her previous lover to shame. Fully recovered, in his prime before his long sleep, she thought he must have been quite the stud. It made her head fuzzy, her mouth watering as she wondered what he'd been like in that faraway world.

And then Solas' fingers undid the buttons at the front of her robe and slipped inside to caress one breast. Her thoughts dissolved and she moaned her appreciation into the skin of his neck. His fingers were deft and nimble, teasing and stroking rather than squeezing aggressively as her first lover had in his excitement. She shivered with anticipation, realizing that Solas was not a clumsy, inexperienced lover…though experience had apparently done nothing to dull his _eagerness._

In an awkward shuffle of limbs and roving, questing hands clawing at clothing clasps and buttons, they backed up until Rosa's thighs bumped the desk behind her. She swiped her hand over the desk, pushing aside the leather pouches containing individual ingredients for her knockout powder. Breathing fast between feverish kisses, their greedy lips still tasting each other's skin, Rosa shimmied out of her robes and Solas stepped back enough to pull his nightshirt over his head.

His skin was pale in the light from the moon and starlight managing to stream in through the little porthole window on the wall. He had a few scars, nicks and scratches mostly, but overall he was pristine, far more than her lover had been. Rosa distantly noted how dark her more olive skin tone was compared to his as she laid a hand over his chest and wondered if all Elvhen had been so fair skinned.

She realized that while she had been caught up noticing his skin, Solas had been staring at her in kind, his blue eyes narrowed as emotions warred over his features. She stood naked but for her smallclothes and breast band, but it was her face Solas stared at and, as she lifted her eyes to meet his, Solas' hand moved to cup her cheek. "You are beautiful, _vhenan,"_ he told her softly.

Grinning, Rosa pressed close, nipping at his chin. "You're not so bad yourself, flat-ear."

He chuckled, sounding husky, and moved to kiss her jawline and then her neck. She felt him alternate between the softness of his lips and the hardness of teeth as he worked down to her collarbone. She moaned as she shivered, her skin dimpling with gooseflesh. His hands slid beneath her breast band, prying it up to palm her breasts and tease her nipples with his thumbs.

Now it was her turn to curse, _"Fenedhis lasa."_ The ache inside her intensified, seeming to tighten and harden just as her nipples did. Impatient to have him inside her, Rosa gripped his hips, feeling the sharp nubs of his pelvis. Finding the waistband of his flimsy breeches, Rosa tugged them down with one hand while with the other she pulled him to grind against her hips.

Solas stepped back from her long enough to get out of his breeches, leaving him naked before her. Rosa did likewise, tearing off the breast band and tossing it carelessly aside. Pulling off her smallclothes from her hips, she kicked them away. Even before she stood upright again Solas was close to her again, dropping low to tease her nipple with his mouth and tongue. Clutching his shoulder, Rosa arched her back, struggling to swallow down her moans at the blazing heat of his mouth.

Solas made a low hum in his throat, halfway between a chuckle and a sigh as his lips left her breast and returned to her neck. His hands at her waist slid low until his fingers ran along the sensitive crease where thigh joined with hips. Rosa shuddered, her thighs parting as she hooked both legs around his hips, trying to drive him into her. Though she felt his cock press against her, hot as mage fire and hard as steel, Solas deliberately angled his hips to avoid entering her.

She let out a low groan of frustration, her voice rasping as she begged, "Please…"

Solas' mouth found her ear as his fingers reached her sex and teased, stroking. She let out a mewling noise, strangling the sounds of her pleasure even as her hips bucked and her back arched, trying desperately to find more stimulation. Her skin tingled around his hands and she realized dimly that he was using magic on her, amplifying his touch and ratcheting up the ache of arousal inside her.

"Please," she repeated, moaning again under her breath, only to hear his answering, smug chuckle.

He breathed into her ear, lapsing into elven that her muddled mind took far too long to translate out: _"I will have you sing for me first."_

His fingers continued stroking, one staying high to rub over her most sensitive anatomy while the other forged deeper, brushing her inner lips. She shivered, flushed and sweating, panting through gnashed teeth as his magic continued to sink into her skin. His skin was damp as she clutched at his shoulder with one hand and at his waist with the other, writhing at his ministrations.

As a finger slipped inside her and then began to rub in time with the fingers of his other hand, Rosa finally lost her struggle to remain quiet. Hot pulses of pleasure made her toes curl, so powerful she could barely stand it. She was dimly aware of her voice echoing from the walls of his room and then she felt Solas shift his position and enter her to the hilt. The change in sensation let her regain the presence of mind to bite back her cries of pleasure and focus on him. She saw perspiration on his face, his lips parted and his pupils wide and, overwhelmed with affection and pleasure for him, Rosa pressed forward to kiss him.

Solas moaned against her lips, nipping and sucking in time with the motion of his hips. He had one hand bracing against her lower back to support her while the other remained between them, stroking deliciously. The flow of his magic increased again and Rosa squirmed as the same pulses of pleasure, hot and making her toes curl, made her cling to him and cry out, unable to hold back. That tight ache inside her coiled tighter with each thrust of his hips and flick of his fingers.

And then Solas let out a grunt, breaking the kiss as his body snapped taut. A strangled cry of pleasure wrenched out of his throat and the rhythm he'd set with his hips grew erratic as he climaxed. The sound and sight of it pushed Rosa over the edge at last as the pulses coalesced into an explosion of bliss that seized her muscles with body-wide spasms. She ground against him, riding out wave after wave of pleasure until they gradually subsided and left her panting and holding him tightly.

Through bleary eyes, she saw the faint shimmer of a sound deadening bubble over them and chuckled when she'd caught her breath enough. She took Solas by the cheeks and kissed him, quick pecks in appreciation of his cleverness. "You're too smart," she breathed.

He grinned down at her, shoulders heaving from exertion. "I shall take that as a compliment."

"You've earned it," Rosa told him, returning his grin. She ran one hand down his chest and abdomen. "Now I really will have to tell Autumn I had the best sex of my life." Solas reacted to that comment, oddly, by frowning. "What?" she asked quickly.

His expression was almost sheepish as he looked off toward the leather pouches they'd scattered. His lips quirked with what she read to be discomfort. "I am delighted to have pleased you," he told her in a husky voice. "Yet, my performance hardly deserves such high praise. I was impatient. It has been a very long time and…I am out of practice." Even in the gloom of this room lit only by moonlight from the small window behind them, Rosa could see the blush that stained his cheeks all the way to his ear tips.

Rosa snorted, snatching his chin and turning his head to look at her. Locking eyes with him, she said, "Could've fooled me. In fact, I'm _sure_ it was _me_ who was impatient. But…" She slid off the desk, wrapping her arms about his waist and shivering at the slick heat of his body against hers. "If you want someone to practice on, I'd be happy to let you sharpen your skills on me."

Solas chuckled, nuzzling her ear. "That is an invitation I will happily accept." He sighed and Rosa felt him turn his head, chin brushing over her hair, to look at the desk. "We should complete our task here before becoming…distracted again."

She nodded, stepping back a bit to grin at him. "Already thinking of next time, huh?"

He shot her a lascivious look. "I would be a fool not to, _vhenan."_ With an idle gesture, Solas let the sound deadening spell fade. It shimmered in the air as the bubble over them burst.

She laughed, though she kept the sound quiet now. "Good." _Because if_ that _was you impatient and out of practice…_ She shivered, feeling the cold of the room on her naked skin along with the thrill of longing as she hurried to collect her discarded garments while Solas did the same. Whatever her future held, Rosa was determined to have more of _that_ in it, even as she couldn't stop the bit of anxiety that clutched at her stomach. If Solas abandoned her as she'd suspected he would, just as Eolas had done with her and her mother, would she eventually regret this?

* * *

Elven Used:

Sathan: please

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"I used a great deal of mana…" he explained. Solas met her gaze, swallowing hard to overcome the pain wracking him. " _Vhenan?"_

One of Rosa's hands cupped the back of his head, pushing his forehead to hers. She breathed in deeply and then said, "Draw from me."

He frowned. "I will recover."

"Don't fight with me on this," she growled. "Just _do_ it. I can stop you if you try to take too much."

* * *

A/N: I promised there would be NSFW and FINALLY I delivered! Ha! But...Felassan *sobs* Oh, Slow Arrow. If you haven't paid attention to the quotes I use from Felassan, you're doing yourself a disservice. He was SO quotable. And, I picked ones to shed light on why he made the decision he did, b/c it was obvious in _The Masked Empire_ he knew he would be killed when he met with that ominous presence in the Fade. Reading into his quotes obsessively, I became sure there were many moments that appear idle or funny when we're actually seeing how unhappy Felassan is. Just tragic!

Those who have read _The Masked Empire_ are going to notice...alterations. All I'm going to say about that is it was deliberate this time.


	29. The Phylacteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I see no rebellion coming. I see mages who take every inch they're allowed and demand ten more, forgetting the very reasons the Circle exists."—Lord Seeker Lambert (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> Rosa and Solas make their move for the phylacteries, with unexpected and grave consequences. Tal meets clan Manaria of the Free Marches. He also gets a special stave from Zevanni...something he'll tell them he's never seen before but he's definitely lying.

For close to an hour Solas helped Rosa grind the blood lotus she'd stolen from the storage room stocked by Tranquil. When that was finished they worked to mix all the individual ingredients together in the correct amounts and then used rolled up parchment to act as a funnel to load each bomb into one of Rosa's numerous leather pouches. After two hours of work Rosa cinched up the last pouch and let out a long breath. "Done," she pronounced.

Glancing to the small window on the wall above the desk, Solas winced as he registered faint bluish light, illuminating a few clouds. "You have no time to spare, _vhenan._ You must return to your room."

She gathered up every pouch, lips moving as she counted them. "Seven," she said and nodded. "That should do it, I think."

Anxiety tightened its grip around Solas' chest, like a giant's fist wrapped around him. "Please, _vhenan…_ "

She let out a huff and shot him a melancholy look. "I know, I know." With the pouches still in her arms, Rosa moved over to his bed and knelt, shoving them deep into the darkness beneath. "Do you think that will work?" she asked as she rose to her feet again.

"We have little choice," Solas murmured. "There is nowhere else to hide them." He glanced over his shoulder to the beds along the other wall where Francis and Adwen still slumbered. He could feel the spell over them and it was…familiar. A common enough sleep spell…from Elvhenan, anyway. Chances were high no one else aside from himself and Rosa knew the spell in this tower.

Seeing his attention on his sleeping roommates, Rosa frowned and her shoulders slumped. Her violet eyes were sad as she met his stare. "I wish I could sleep beside you," she admitted, smiling wanly. "But I guess it'll have to wait until we're free."

Solas returned her smile, ignoring the chilled press of anxiety inside him to pull her into an embrace. She sighed, snuggling against him as her hands gripped his back. Solas' muscles were weak with fatigue and exertion from their spirited lovemaking and the sensation was...thrilling. Closing his eyes, he asked, "Tonight we move on the phylacteries? Do you agree?"

She pulled back from him, nodding as she met his eyes. "We have the bombs. There's no reason to wait."

Solas nodded solemnly. "Then I will meet you outside your room on the sixth level tonight after lights out."

Rosa's jaw clenched as she dipped her chin in agreement. Then, suddenly, she reached out and gripped his nightshirt, tugging him down and into a kiss. Solas moved gladly to press his lips to hers, feeling his body flush with warmth as desire reignited inside him despite his lack of sleep. His heart pounded and his mind raced with joy at the taste of her: lilac and vanilla.

All too soon, Rosa pulled away. "I have to go," she murmured, voice strained.

"Be careful, _vhenan,"_ he cautioned her, still holding one of her hands as she reached for the door. He squeezed the fragile little appendage before letting go.

She flashed a cocky smile, all bravado to reassure him. "You got it, flat-ear."

After she had slipped out of his room and closed to door behind her, Solas locked it once more and returned to his bed. Alone now with his thoughts and memories, he remembered Felassan and swallowed to try and alleviate the sudden burning ache in his throat. Breathing out, he forced his mind to empty and began the exercises to expand and stretch his mana core rather than brood. There was nothing he could do now to change it. Felassan had made his decision and Solas had followed through, administering the consequences.

After feeling his core stretch pleasantly, Solas let sleep overtake him and for once he almost wished it could be dreamless.

* * *

When they found snares on a game trail that morning, six days after his rescue from Templars, Tal was ready to whoop for joy. The marauders who discovered the snare were certain it was Dalish in origin and Tal agreed wholeheartedly with them. He had walked with the marauder scouts this morning rather than riding with Zevanni on her halla. The more distance he could put between himself and her the less likely he was to let slip something he shouldn't.

"The clan that set these can't be far away," Zevanni's second in command, a man named Var, concluded. He was a rogue rather than a mage, though something in the way he carried himself struck Tal as being incongruous, as if the other man wasn't comfortable in his skin. Tal had seen him sulking at their campfires when the other marauders had bedded down for the night, though what he was upset about wasn't clear. He was a handsome man, blue eyed and with blond hair. His pale skin was marked with Mythal's vallaslin.

"Do we wait for their hunters to come by and check the snare or do we try to seek them out?" the scout who'd found the snare asked Zevanni astride her halla.

Zevanni frowned contemplatively, turning in her saddle to check the orientation of the sun. "We seek them out," she decided, wrinkling her nose as though the sun had offended her somehow. "We've spent enough time wandering out here."

"Is there a water source nearby?" Tal asked, gesturing with his one good arm. "That would be the best place to start."

Var, also riding his halla, nodded. "A sensible question."

"We follow the game trail," Zevanni concluded. "Because I don't see any water nearby. If we find water we'll follow that. You ken?"

Var chuckled. "Indeed, I do." A look passed between the two halla riders and Tal resisted the desire to frown at it. Sometimes he thought he picked up on some sort of… _thing_ between these two. Tension, maybe, or hidden knowledge. He could have suspected it was simply that they'd been lovers or possibly shared blood, but at the same time that felt _wrong._ Zevanni had done nothing to hide her physical relationship with Tal and yet Var seemed to show no resentment toward the other man and no interest in the relationship. If he was a former lover, Tal expected some resentment, and if they were kin Var should be interested in vetting Tal's worth. It was just the sort of thing Tal had done with Revas when he sensed an attraction between his sister and the..."city-elf".

These marauders were…unusual, and even without his father's cryptic, invasive warning via dreams, Tal was looking forward to making contact with a clan. Except, he still wanted to help save Rosa and Revas from Hasmal if he could, though _how_ he had no idea. And, oddly, Rosa hadn't reached out to him in her dreams the previous night. He had hoped to share their father's warning with her, but for the first night since he'd been sent from the tower, Rosa hadn't visited him in the Fade and the previous night when she _had_ visited him, she'd told him she was about to do something incredibly dangerous…

 _Mythal protect her,_ he prayed and then Zevanni's sharp, commanding voice intruded on his thoughts as she called his name. Tal looked up to her, arching his brows in question.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked, voice softening.

He started to shrug but newly instilled instincts made him tense and stop the motion. Zevanni had used more magic on him that morning when he asked, but it seemed the collarbone was a stubborn bone that refused to mend with most types of magic. Tal wished that he knew whether that was true or not. But Zevanni's ministrations had eased his pain, though he still had the arm strapped to his side. "It's okay," he answered.

She nodded, businesslike. "If this clan can take you in they're going to want to see what you can do."

"And that'll be hard to do with a bum arm," Tal finished for her with a sigh. "Yep. Figured." He thrust out his chin then, going for levity. "I planned on winning them over with my endless charm and wit." A few of the scouts chuckled at him and both Var and Zevanni smirked with amusement. Tal grinned back at them, pleased that he could crack the rather grim mood that typically rode over these elves.

Var looked toward Zevanni then and said, "Perhaps he might use your stave?" There was an odd note in his voice Tal couldn't interpret.

Tal blinked with confusion. The staff Zevanni wore on her back was of a Tevinter variety—long, heavy, and made of metal. It wouldn't be any easier for Tal to wield than any other staff. But before he could question them, Zevanni sighed with irritation and unbuttoned her overcoat, digging inside at her waist. Tal knew she wore a variety of daggers and hunting knives there, almost as if she were a rogue. She drew out one of the blades from its scabbard and immediately Tal realized it wasn't a blade at all—it was a stick.

Suddenly, his stomach clenched with apprehension and suspicion.

Zevanni held it out and, with no way to refuse, Tal walked to her mount to take it. The halla stag stamped its hooves, ears flicking as Tal passed. The doe that Var rode was too busy picking at the lower branches of a nearby pine to care. Taking the "stick" from Zevanni, Tal immediately felt it flush warm, tingling his skin. It wasn't a stick. It was a stave. He knew that if he willed it, the stick would elongate into a full blown staff.

He didn't and instead kept his magic coiled tightly inside himself as he instead flashed a lopsided, awkward grin. "A stick?" _I have never seen something like this before,_ he told himself and tried to believe it even as memories from childhood stirred at the sight of the familiar runes and characters around the ironbark handle.

"A stave," Zevanni corrected him, brows furrowing. "It'll stay small like that unless you will it otherwise. It channels spirit magic, but it'll also do fire easily."

"Neat," Tal said, feigning surprise. Then he chuckled. "And I like fire."

"Keep it for now," Zevanni told him with a small smile. "If we run across this clan and they want to assess you, use it. But afterwards I'll need it back."

"Of course," Tal told her, dipping his head in thinks. " _Ma serannas."_ He pushed the little stave into his belt.

"Don't lose it," Zevanni groused and Tal realized it must be valuable or precious to her in some other way. Before he could reply, Zevanni barked out orders to the marauders to continue ahead on the game trail.

"I'll take the rear," Var said and tugged on his reins, driving his halla doe around and down the brush on the hill.

Zevanni eyed Tal from astride her stag. "Ride with me?" she asked.

Tal smiled politely but shook his head. "No, I'd like to keep my feet on the ground for a bit." He gestured at his shoulder. "Gives me a better distraction and makes my shoulder hurt less if I'm winded and my legs ache."

She snorted, appearing both amused and irritated at his comment. "Suit yourself," she said and motioned to the trail. "But be careful. I don't want to have to heal you when you wind up tripping down the hill."

Tal scoffed, thrusting out his chin with exaggerated confidence. "What could possibly give you the impression I'm clumsy? I'm as surefooted as your halla."

"Of course you are," Zevanni said, letting out a dry laugh as she spurred her halla ahead along the game trail.

Tal set out after her and wondered at the stave at his hip. Hopefully he'd hidden the fact that he'd seen a stick that could transform into a staff like this one before. Yet, he couldn't shake off the faint suspicion that he'd been tested just now and he didn't know whether he'd passed. At any rate, however, he was now armed with more than his wits and charm as he'd put it. If the marauders planned to do him harm, giving him a weapon seemed foolish. The stick-stave reassured him that his life wasn't in immediate danger.

They followed the game trail for the rest of the morning, finding more snares along the way—two of them with rabbits in them. The scouts killed the frightened animals and claimed the bodies. Zevanni carried the rabbits strapped to her halla and told Tal she planned to give them to the clan when they found it.

It was a short time after noon when the marauders stumbled upon a creek and a small wolf statue that served as a shrine to the Dread Wolf. Now, guessing they must be near to this clan, Zevanni ordered the major bulk of her marauders to camp near the statue while she, Var, Tal, and a handful of other warriors followed the creek into the forested depression.

Tal walked with the marauder warriors, who were excellent trackers as Dalish themselves. They found notches in some of the trees along the river, a frequent strategy by Dalish clans to stake out watch points for patrols and hunting perimeters. The marauders made no attempt to be stealthy as they walked through the leaf litter and scattered piles of crusted snow that hadn't melted away with the rain the last few days.

The creek broadened as it carved its way through the forested valley and through the clear, pristine water Tal saw fat brook trout. His mouth watered at the sight and he grinned, unable to stop his heart from picking up. The land here seemed generous and fruitful. He hoped the clan here could take him—and Rosa—in.

Then, in the distance, they heard the roar of water, echoing through the trees. They pushed through the foliage, still heading gradually downhill, until they found a trail that led them away from the brook. Ahead, through the trees, Tal saw smoke or mist in the air and smelled the heavy, sweet scent of water anew. And, standing in the path, stood a middle-aged elven woman with honeyed skin and hair that'd gone silver.

The marauders stopped at the sight of her, tensing. Tal, standing beside one of the warrior-scouts, plastered a smile on his lips as he registered the bow she clasped in one hand and her belt equipped with daggers that weren't just for hunting. This wasn't just a hunter for the clan judging by that—and her rather impressively muscled legs and arms. She had been marked for Falon'Din and when she spoke her voice was somber. "What brings you to us?"

A sense of being watched made Tal twist to look into the forest off to their right. He saw nothing but knew the clan had likely spied them approaching from miles away and placed warriors and hunters here to fight them if the need arose. Glancing left, Tal even saw a shadow cast from a tree that seemed too broad and guessed an elf stood pressed to its trunk just on the other side.

From atop her stag, Zevanni answered the Dalish woman. _"Aneth ara,_ lethallan. I and my companions have journeyed across the Free Marches in search of the nearest clan. We wish you no harm." Twisting on her mount, she pulled up the two rabbits they'd collected from the clan's snares and lifted them high for the woman to see. Tal couldn't help but notice that the woman tensed at Zevanni's motion, though she relaxed quickly as she realized the halla rider held food and not a weapon.

"We found your clan by following snares. These rabbits belong to you," Zevanni told her. "But we bring a few other goods as well—wine, herbs from Tevinter, and some spices."

Tal smirked at the mention of spices. Depending on how estranged from humans this clan was, spices could be like offering them ironbark or gold. The woman arched her brow, apparently intrigued by Zevanni's offer. "We have little to trade," she said gruffly, her lips quirking downward. "But we will not turn you away—at least not until the Keeper has been consulted."

"Our primary goal is not trade, actually," Zevanni said, sounding a little reticent now. "My people and I are raiders. We take from the _shemlen,_ punish them. About a week ago we rescued a mage from a caravan of Templars in Hasmal. Tal…" she said, motioning at him.

Tal took a step closer to the woman and bowed from the waist to show respect. The woman's gray eyes swept over him, narrowed with scrutiny. As Tal stood upright once more, smiling as friendly as possible, he saw her lips part slightly. "You were caught by Templars?" she asked.

Tal nodded. "I was. My sister and I were traveling from Orlais as our clans had too many mages. In the last Arlathvhen I heard of at least one clan here in the Free Marches who did not have a First. My sister and I hoped to join one."

The woman's gaze searched over the other elves with him and then returned to Tal. "Your sister is not with you, lethallin?"

"No," Tal lamented, dropping his stare to the ground and frowning. "She is still caged in the Hasmal Circle. There's nothing I can do for her, currently."

"Can you take on another mage?" Zevanni pressed.

The woman shot Zevanni a frown of disapproval. "Yes. We can." She didn't sound happy about that news, even though Tal's heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He would have started wringing his hands had one not been strapped to his side.

"Is something the matter?" Tal asked her, gesturing with his good arm. Worried that she did not think him worthy, he quickly tried to outline his finer points. "I promise I am a hard worker. I am trained in magic _and_ I'm sure I can hunt as well as—"

The woman lifted a hand, palm out, silencing him. "Please, _da'len,_ it is not that I doubt you." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "We are few now after an attack by slavers and bandits. Our Keeper was killed in those dark days this spring, as was our Second. Your coming is a blessing as our present Keeper has no First. Mythal willing, she will be overjoyed to take you as her apprentice."

Tal nodded, feeling heavy with sympathy for this woman and her clan. " _Ir abelas, hahren,"_ he told her, crestfallen.

The woman nodded in acknowledgment and then motioned toward the trees both right and left, apparently giving an all-clear signal to the warriors and hunters Tal had sensed watching them. Sure enough, a glance around the forest now revealed a dozen elves in green and brown armor stepping out from their hiding places. Every one of them was armed and Tal saw several of them still had not tucked away their bows, though none had an arrow nocked.

"I am Lanatriel, war-leader of clan Manaria," the woman said and looked around the group of marauders before setting her sights on Tal as she asked, "And you are?"

Tal dipped his head again. "Tal of clan Ghilath in Orlais." He felt heat spread over his cheeks all the way to his ears as he fought to keep from saying something about his Keeper unfairly refusing to apprentice him, but that wouldn't win him any points here, probably.

From a few paces back astride her stag Zevanni introduced herself as well. "I am Zevanni." She gestured to Var on his halla doe behind her. "That's Var, my second in command."

Var nodded to Lanatriel respectfully. "Greetings, war-leader. We have some Templar shields we can give you if you wish."

Lanatriel's smile was genuine, though weary. "I will gladly take them off your hands." The other warriors and hunters who'd been hidden about the forest on either side of the trail moved closer to Lanatriel, waiting for her signal to start heading back for the clan.

"Come," Lanatriel told them, her smile a tad brighter now. "We would enjoy hearing about your exploits as raiders."

Zevanni clicked her tongue, spurring her halla forward. "And we would be delighted to share. There's nothing better than killing _shemlen."_

Tal was tense as he started after Lanatriel, worried that this would prove to be a very dangerous clan to settle with if humans had marked it for extermination. Yet he could do little to fight his fate now and, if he could, wouldn't it be worthwhile to help this clan recover?

"I prefer peace to killing," Lanatriel said with a sigh. "Despite my title."

 _That_ eased some of Tal's tension. These could be good people, just dogged with bad luck recently. He decided to withhold judgment as he tailed after Lanatriel, hoping for the best.

* * *

With the knockout bombs tucked into his robes and the filed down butter knife for picking locks secured in his belt, Solas struck out for the sixth level to meet with Rosa. He had pretended to sleep for close to an hour before rising as silently as he could from his bed and tiptoeing over to his roommates place a sleeping spell over them. The last thing he needed was for either Adwen or Francis to awaken and notice he was absent.

Slipping out of his room and into the darkened hallway, Solas headed for the nearest stairwell on near-silent feet. His robes rustled more than he'd have liked, but he'd had centuries of practice moving stealthily in the wilds of Elvhenan and he was strong enough now that he could move, wraithlike, through the darkness. He reached the stairwell easily and stepped lightly down it. He'd removed the slipper-like shoes the Circle provided its mages—and insisted they wore—to facilitate silence as he took the stairs.

When he heard the clank of Templar boots echoing in the stairwell Solas summoned the stealth spell and pressed his lean body to a corner of the landing. He waited, heart pounding and body bathed in sweat, as a weary looking woman in Templar armor passed by. She seemed completely oblivious and Solas crept away down the next set of stairs even before she'd reached the top of the steps to the seventh floor.

The door to the sixth level was locked, as Solas had expected it'd be. Still holding the stealth spell over him, Solas knelt and shoved the blunt knife into the lock. He held his breath as he made the first few taps, causing an uncomfortably loud noise to echo from the stone walls. The lock turned, giving way, and Solas slowly pushed it open to reveal the empty, dark hallway of the sixth floor.

Striding forward again, his heart still galloping, Solas passed through the halls toward the northwest corner where Rosa's room was. Once there he let the stealth spell fail and breathed deeply for several seconds to calm the tightness in his chest as he knelt and began to pick Rosa's lock. His hands shook slightly, slowing him, and after about a minute he heard and felt the lock clatter on its own. He stepped back, snatching the knife away from the lock, as Rosa opened the door and shut it with a faint click behind her.

She motioned at his robes and mouthed, _"Knockout bombs."_

Solas nodded and quickly grabbed several of the pouches out of his robes, passing them to her. Rosa tied them to her belt, speedy and decisive. Like him she carried a filed down butter knife to act as a lock pick and although Solas couldn't see her feet past her much longer mage robes, he knew she'd be barefoot.

They set off as soon as she'd finished readying herself, heading for the same stairwell Solas had used before. The door to the sixth level was still unlocked, but they paused at the entrance, straining their ears for the sound of a patrol. Though they heard nothing, both summoned the magic for the stealth spell as Solas pulled open the heavy wooden door. It creaked, loud and obnoxious, on its old rusted hinges. Solas cringed, but no Templars came charging at them from the stairs, so they released the stealth spell and passed through.

Solas closed the door behind them while Rosa started down the stairwell, her tread soft enough to be virtually silent. She used one hand to hold up her robes, to keep them from dragging on the floor. Solas hurried after her, tense with each step. His sweaty palms left streaks on the bannister. The Knight-Commander's office was on the third floor of the tower, near the bottom, while the phylacteries were at the very top. This would be an _incredibly_ stressful night. There was just no way around it.

They had descended to the fourth floor landing before they heard voices and the clank of armored boots on the stone behind them. Two Templars had exited the door to the fifth floor and one headed up as the other started down. Solas and Rosa exchanged quick looks and then both resumed the stealth spell. Solas moved quickly down the next set of steps to press himself to the wall there. A quick survey revealed no sign of where Rosa had hidden.

He held his breath as the Templar approached. He was a large man, overweight enough that his belly bulged around his armor buckles. He held his helmet tucked under his arm and his eyes had gray circles beneath them. On the stairs halfway to the third landing, the Templar paused and sniffed, eyes panning about. He stayed that way for some time, frowning with concentration.

Unable to hold his breath any longer, Solas eventually resumed breathing, every muscle body wide stiffening as he did so, as if that would give him away. The Templar showed no sign of noticing, however. Solas' heart raced as he felt a shudder pass through him and knew his mana was at about half capacity. The stealth spell took a sizeable about of mana to initiate and then, much like a blizzard spell, required mana to sustain it. As a result, it would eventually fail on its own when their mana ran dry. Pre-Veil Solas could have sustained the spell for _months_ , probably, or perhaps indefinitely if he regenerated faster than the spell took mana. But no longer. Now he wondered who would give out first—himself or Rosa.

And then, mercifully, the Templar shrugged and resumed walking down the stairs. He passed by Solas, wafting the smell of sweat and unwashed clothes at him. Solas grimaced with disgust even as his shoulders eased with relief.

Then he saw a shimmer and blinked as he realized Rosa had hopped up on the bannister, wedging her feet into the narrow gap between the wall and the railing. The Templar might have stopped with bemusement because his hand had brushed the edge of her foot or the bottom of her robes. She became fully visible as she stepped off it, landing with a quiet slap of bare feet on the stone, as agile as a cat. The sight of it twisted a barrage of emotions inside Solas: admiration at her nimbleness, fear at how reckless she'd been, anger at how foolish it was, and…well, desire too.

Hurrying to her, Solas snatched her hand as she stood up and pulled her close to whisper angrily in her ear. "Have you no common sense, _vhenan?"_

"Where was I supposed to hide?" she hissed back, under her breath, motioning about with both hands in frustration.

Solas stabbed a finger to the corner across from where he'd hidden and then up toward the landing where they'd been when they first heard the Templar coming. "Anywhere but there," he snapped. "He felt you, did he not?" He tried to repress the fury making him shake but failed. "Your foolishness nearly revealed you!"

"And if it had," she said, pressing close to him and speaking in a harsh whisper, "I would have been in the perfect spot to take him out."

"We cannot be caught," Solas reminded her through gritted teeth. Sighing and scrubbing her his face, he pulled away from her as he said, "Please. Be more careful, _vhenan."_

"Yes," Rosa replied in a hiss. " _Hahren."_ She snatched the knife out of her belt and moved to the door of the third level, kneeling to push it into the lock. In only a few moments it was unlocked and, cutting a quick glance at Solas, they both summoned the stealth spell as Rosa pushed it open.

This level was one devoted mostly to the Templars and to organization and administration of the tower. As such, it wasn't dark like the mages' floors had been and Solas could hear voices speaking in monotone from a room somewhere down the hall. Tranquil managed areas on this level, storing supplies and crafting enchantments. The Knight-Commander's office was clear on the other side of the level, making this the most dangerous stretch of their entire journey.

Grabbing one of Rosa's hands so they wouldn't lose each other, Solas hurried through the door, invisible, and turned to watch as she shut the door behind them. The hinges whined again and he heard Rosa mutter a curse, then felt her brush past him, tugging on his hand. Solas followed her right as the hallway branched. From behind them he heard a Tranquil man's voice call out, "Is someone there?"

At a storage closet Solas and Rosa slipped inside, pressing tight together against mops, buckets, and brooms. In the enclosed space their breathing was far too loud. Solas could have sworn he heard both their hearts pounding away. They let the spell fall away, resting a moment to allow their mana to regenerate.

Outside they heard chatter between several Tranquil and then footsteps as they retreated back to their work. Nothing stirred in the hall outside the storage closet, however, as this hallway was for senior level Templar officers. The Tranquil had no reason to wander down this way as the hallway straight off the stairwell was where their workshops were located.

"I'm sorry," Rosa blurted, her voice soft. "About the stairwell. You're right."

"Think nothing of it," Solas told her, letting out a breath. The air smelled of cleaning solutions and soap.

Rosa's hands went to his chest, bunching up the fabric as she gripped it and pulled him down for a kiss. Solas accepted it eagerly, his breath puffing and his body flushing hot. The threat of discovery and the thrill of danger truly did have a way of stirring passion—but he pulled away from her before he could get carried away.

Trying to calm his racing heart and breath, he said, "We must remain focused."

"Oh, trust me," she murmured, "I am." She let out a shaky breath, a little too loud for Solas' tastes as he grimaced. "Ready?"

"Yes," he answered.

After a moment of listening out to the hallway beyond, they clasped hands again and drew on the stealth spell. Slipping out of the storage closet, Solas shut the door behind them as gently as he could, then started down the hall again. Rosa moved with him, at his side rather than following. Her hand was slimy and sticky with sweat, revealing she was just as nervous as he.

They reached the small landing and waiting area outside the Knight-Commander's office, familiar to Solas after visiting it several times prior to his Harrowing. The space was empty now, the chairs lining the walls silent and tired-looking, worn by the thousands of rumps that'd been seated in them. A stairwell waited down a very short, narrow hall, but fortunately Solas heard nothing from it. Templars had led he, Rosa, and Tal onto those particular stairs multiple times, back when such travel had left Solas in agony.

The door to the Knight-Commander's office was locked, as they'd known it would be. With the hall empty and silent currently, Solas let his stealth spell drop and Rosa did the same. She let out a quiet, huffing breath and grabbed the knife from her belt again. "Keep an eye out?" she whispered to him.

Solas nodded, already straining his ears to listen for sounds of anyone approaching from the stairs or the hall.

Kneeling beside the door, Rosa slipped the knife into the lock and began her rapid tapping and twisting. In only a few seconds she had it unlocked. Withdrawing the knife once more, she slipped it back into her belt and gripped the latch, sucking in a shaky breath that made her shoulders rise and then fall as she let it out. Then, with the lightest of touches, Rosa pushed the door open.

The whine from its rusty hinges made Solas grate his teeth together, but they had no time to linger. Rosa crept inside, her robes rustling faintly though her bare feet were silent. Solas handled the door, checking the hall and the stairs one last time before entering the office and shutting the door with a gentle click.

From the Knight-Commander's desk, Rosa cursed. " _Fenedhis!_ The bitch has it locked…" She growled with frustration as she stabbed the desk drawer lock with her knife and began to pick that as well.

Solas remained close to the door, gazing about the office. There were a few wooden chairs lining the walls, some tapestries, and a few bookshelves with dusty tomes on them with titles he didn't bother reading. He remembered standing in front of the desk that Rosa now knelt beside as Seeker Pentaghast had questioned him about his orb. Would the Knight-Commander keep a list of magical relics here? It might be worth checking…

Then both elves froze, hearts lurching into their throats and stomachs dropping to the floor as they heard the telltale metallic ring of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. Both turned their heads toward the small, closed door off to the right of the desk. They both knew it was a private study for the Knight-Commander, but they hadn't expected her to be in it this late. She should be asleep!

Solas thought he would vomit as he heard the hard thump of boots and saw the wooden door to that study fly open, revealing Knight-Commander Kali wearing only the leathers that'd go on beneath her plate mail. Her sword was in her hand and both mages flinched as they felt her channel her own power through it. The blade gleamed blue as she edged her way into the room, a snarl over her face.

"Maker's breath," she sneered. "What do we have here?"

 _No,_ Solas thought, shocked into motionlessness. _No, no, no! This wasn't how it was supposed to…_

Rosa went invisible, the knife she'd been using on the locked desk drawer clattering to the floor. Solas did the same, almost without conscious thought.

Kali grunted and released a burst of her own magic-nullifying power in a blue shockwave. "Stand down!" she yelled. "Show yourselves!"

The spell purge smashed into Solas and knocked him to his knees, burning his skin like fire. His head ached and his stomach went loopy. His mana core seemed to cringe and he felt the stealth spell waver—and then fail. Breathing hard, he looked up to see Kali charging for him, sword glowing and death in her eyes.

And then Kali stumbled, as if she'd hit something—or some _one—_ and Solas saw an explosion of gray powder shimmering in the air. It was smeared all over Kali's face, making her splutter and choke. Her sword fell to the floor with a clatter as Solas sprang away, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He saw Rosa reappear standing atop the Knight-Commander's desk, a scarf over her face and her eyes squinted. In one hand she held another knockout bomb at the ready.

But there was no need as Kali stumbled and collapsed in a heap, coughing and gagging. Long seconds passed as Solas heard nothing except the pounding of his heart in his ears and the occasional wheezing gasp from the Knight-Commander as she succumbed. Eventually, feeling a slight wooziness as he smelled the noxious stink of the knockout bomb, Solas pulled up the scarf he'd brought for just that purpose and wrapped it over his nose and mouth. His movement seemed to unfreeze Rosa too as she stepped down from the desk and knelt once more to begin unlocking the desk.

Staring at Kali's collapsed body, Solas steeled himself as he realized what he must do next. Striding to the fallen human, he stoked his mana core, finding it bubbling with the disruption caused by the Templar's spell purge, but knowing he had just enough mana to do it. He squatted at her side and readied the spell just as he heard the drawer come open, wood grinding against wood. "Got it," Rosa said under her breath and Solas heard the jangle of keys. Then, apparently noticing him, she asked, "Solas?"

"We cannot let her live," he said as he laid his hand on her back, feeling the old, worn leather she wore.

"I know," Rosa said, her voice solemn. "What will you do?"

Rather than explain, Solas cast the spell. Fire sprang to life, spreading wildly over Kali's body. Solas tried to rise to his feet but stumbled backward, landing hard on his rump as the room spun. His eyes blurred with moisture and his body broke out in a chilled sweat despite the roaring flames now consuming the Knight-Commander's body.

Rosa rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders and giving him a quick shake. "Solas? Are you okay?"

He blinked, screwing up his face and breathing through the ache that had started in his temples and deep in his core. Kali's body was already gone, dissolving into ash as the powerful spell finished. Solas' limbs were weak and shaky as he tried to nod reassuringly to Rosa. "I used a great deal of mana…" he explained.

There was a metallic clatter as Rosa set down the keys she'd just retrieved from Kali's desk and straddled his legs, sitting in his lap and wrapping her arms around him to offer support. "Look at me," she ordered him, her voice tight and deep with command.

Solas met her gaze, swallowing hard to overcome the pain wracking him. " _Vhenan?"_

One of Rosa's hands cupped the back of his head, pushing his forehead to hers. She breathed in deeply and then said, "Draw from me."

He frowned. "I will recover."

"Don't fight me on this," she growled. "Just _do_ it. I can stop you if you try to take too much."

He very much doubted she would be able to stop him. An Evanuris siphoning magic without control would be like a dragon trying to sip from a teacup. The world spun again and he winced, though he tried for humor. "We should have brought lyrium." Of course, she didn't know that would only make him worse, physically.

"Stop talking," Rosa ordered, and, tugging down her scarf and then his, she kissed him swiftly. Her lips were warm, distracting him from the pain swimming in his blood and in his guts. When she pulled back, she said again, " _Draw_ from me. _Please._ We can't wait for you to recover."

He knew she was right and, gritting his teeth, brought both hands up to her neck. Her hair was sweaty against his palms, reminding him deliciously of the previous night when they'd made love. Reaching out with the same inner senses he used to connect with the Fade, Solas felt Rosa's mana at his metaphorical fingertips. Careful and gentle, Solas willed it to flow into himself. At once his body tingled with heat and pleasure. He bit his tongue to keep from moaning as her mana settled into his core, soothing it like cold on a burn. The world stopped spinning and the pain inside him dimmed and then vanished. When he heard Rosa gasp and shudder in his arms, he immediately retracted, closing off the connection and letting go of her in the physical plane as well.

Rosa breathed hard and fast, her skin pallid and sweaty, but before he could ask if she was all right she was off his lap and reaching for the keys. "Can you walk?" she asked him. "Can you cast and maintain the stealth spell?"

With a grunt, Solas hauled himself upright, swaying only a moment before the room seemed to solidify. He probed his core and found it recharging, healthy and rejuvenated. "Yes." He stared at her, torn between wonder that her mana had been able to mend him so well and humiliation that he had been so weak. Was it because she was a Dreamer and a powerful mage or was it because of her heritage? He wanted to ask her, but knew he'd likely never be able to.

Rosa tucked the keys into her breast band, where they wouldn't clatter as they moved. "Time to go," she said.

"Her sword," Solas said, motioning to where Kali had dropped it. "And her ashes…"

Rosa frowned. "You're right…you handle the sword and close the drawer in her desk. I'll take care of the ashes."

Solas strode to pick up Kali's sword and hurriedly stashed it behind one of the bookshelves. Then he went to the Knight-Commander's desk and slid the drawer closed as Rosa finished tidying up the ashes. A scorch mark remained in the floor where her body had burned, but they moved a chair over it, hoping that in the dimness of the room no one would notice it with a cursory glance, assuming it was just the chair's shadow at first.

With as much evidence covered up as possible, Solas and Rosa adopted the stealth spell and left the office, hand-in-hand so they wouldn't lose one another. Together they made their way to the stairwell down the short hall from the Knight-Commander's office and began the long ascent up. Twice they encountered Templars or Tranquil and had to hide as they had before, pressed into the corners of landings and holding their breath.

Finally they reached the topmost floor of the tower and both hesitated on the landing halfway between levels as they calmed their nerves and Rosa readied more knockout powder. Both tugged their scarves into place and then, using eye contact and hand signals, Solas signaled when he was ready and Rosa did the same. They clasped hands and yet again let the stealth spell fall over them as they stalked as silently as possible up the last set of stairs.

There was no door to this uppermost space as the tower narrowed as it climbed until this level only housed the phylacteries. It was still a massive space, however, and there was a short hallway leading up to the door. A Templar sat in a chair at his post, whittling away at a block of wood. His eyelids looked heavy, but he showed no other signs of fatigue as his carving knife worked over the wood. The area was silent as a tomb, making it necessary for Solas and Rosa to creep slowly to ensure they made no sound. But, despite their efforts, the Templar's brow furrowed and he looked up, scanning the hall and cocking his head.

Solas angled backward slightly, allowing Rosa to take the lead so she could administer the knockout bomb. Just as the Templar lost interest in scanning the hall and returned to carving, Rosa lobbed the bomb at him.

Powder exploded in the small hallway, stinging Solas' eyes and scratching at his throat despite the scarf. Rosa pressed against him, tugging him toward the stairwell. They retreated, less silently than before, and waited in the stairwell, trying not to pant as they regained their breath. The Templar coughed and choked a bit and then succumbed. Solas heard his body thump hard as he fell out of his chair and landed on the stone floor, dead asleep.

They waited a few moments before trotting back up the stairs and to the locked door, abandoning the stealth spell now. Solas stood watch as Rosa worked with the keys, her hands shaking. She unlocked them in sequence, muttering under her breath as she did so. Solas contemplated the collapsed guard, wondering if they should just kill him as they had Kali. The Templars would know someone had stolen the keys soon enough. Any chance of hiding what they'd done had disappeared when Kali ambushed them.

The door groaned as Rosa pushed it open, charging inside and rushing to the column that held their phylacteries. Solas shut the door behind them and then located the nearest ladder leaning against the wall. With a grunt, he hauled it to the right column and leaned the ladder against it. Holding either side of it, he jerked his chin to indicate Rosa should climb it.

She shimmied her way up as he held it steady. The vibrations from her climb were surprisingly light and Solas marveled again at her nimbleness. She was, indeed, Dalish. He kept his senses peeled for any sign of discovery even as the pleasant shape of Rosa's rump threatened to distract him.

When she'd found their phylacteries, Rosa hissed his name from the top of the ladder and then dropped them. Solas scrambled, catching the tiny vials. They glowed a dark, ominous red and clinked together as the vials hit one another, clutched in his hand. Staring at them an idea struck him and he called softly up to Rosa, "Pull more of the vials."

She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. "What? Why?"

"We will be found out if only ours are missing. The Templars will learn of what we have done. We must not make their task easy."

Rosa stared at him a moment, hesitating. "That will endanger a lot of mages…"

"We have no choice," Solas insisted. "We must deceive them by implicating as many as possible."

"They could kill all of us," Rosa muttered, shaking her head. "Enact the Rite of Annulment." Her jaw clenched as she struggled with the morality of the decision.

"If they try we can escape in the chaos," Solas told her, his voice firm. _"_ Please _, vhenan._ We have no chance of hiding what we've done after what happened in the Knight-Commander's office. _"_

She nodded, expression grim as she turned back to the column, snatching vials and dropping them to the floor. They clattered on the stone or broke apart, spilling the red glowing blood in splatters. Solas erected a barrier over himself to prevent splatter hitting him and returned to hold the ladder. Rosa stepped down a wrung and pulled more vials, chucking them every which way. She worked her way downward from there, hands and vials flying. The circular room echoed with the sharp noise of glass vials breaking and clinking on the stone.

Eventually Solas asked her to come down and climb a different column. As she worked over the top, Solas plucked vials from the bottom and shot precise fireballs at some of the glowing blood on the floor to fully destroy phylacteries. The chaos here would make the Templars and the Tranquil have an almost impossible task of determining whose phylacteries were here and whose were missing. Hundreds would be implicated and the Templars would know not all of them could be responsible, yet any _one_ or handful could be.

If they reacted as he thought they would, it'd lead swiftly to open rebellion.

Together they destroyed most of the phylacteries in three columns and picked a few more from the remaining pillars, deliberately selecting enchanters, for good measure. With that complete they stood together near the only exit, sweaty and tense as they surveyed their work. The circular room was in disarray, covered in ashes, broken vials, and glowing red spatter.

"Only one last question," Rosa said from his side and lifted her hand clutching the Knight-Commander's keys. They clattered, musical and metallic, against one another. "What do we do with these?"

Solas inhaled deeply, smelling the metallic tang of blood as he considered. The blood magic from the phylacteries left his skin prickling uncomfortably. Making up his mind, he said, "We secure the room once more and hide the keys. It will delay the Templars some time trying to find them." An unpleasant thought occurred to him that the Templars could use the keys to find those who'd perpetrated this crime with a remote sensing spell, if such a thing had survived the fall of Elvhenan. Motioning to Rosa, he said, "Give them to me."

She did as he asked and watched as he gripped the key ring, eyes closing as he drew mana and shaped a spell so ancient he felt certain it hadn't survived from Elvhenan. He imprinted his will onto the keys in a false memory: Kali and Seeker Pentaghast working together to destroy the phylacteries and then the Seeker turning against the Knight-Commander and killing her. He added the details he knew to be true: the ashes or Kali's body and where her sword had been hidden. When he was satisfied, Solas tucked them into his robes.

"What did you do?" Rosa asked, her violet eyes keen with her curiosity.

"I ensured the keys, if they are found, could not be used to locate us through remote sensing." At her look of bafflement, Solas noted with interest that this was apparently another gap in her knowledge. "I doubt they will use the technique," he told her. "But I'd prefer to be certain they cannot."

She nodded, though he suspected she still had no idea what he'd done. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

She nuzzled his neck and ear, sighing out her satisfaction. "That was _exactly_ what I needed after tonight."

He chuckled as he let the sound dampening spell die. "I could not agree more, _vhenan."_

* * *

A/N: Phew! Your eyes and instincts do not deceive you...next chapter is **NSFW!  
**

If you're wondering about what Solas did with the keys, or why he cared...Felassan uses a sort of remote sensing in _The Masked Empire_ early on after we first meet him in the book. So he's trying to protect himself and Rosa from that, even though it's probably lost knowledge. 

So, as you guys can tell by this chapter...things are getting REAL! R.I.P. Knight-Commander Kali Romain. We didn't know ye all that well, but you were fair-ish. I knew very early on in writing that Knight-Commander Kali would be dying in some way. Why, you ask? Well, in case I haven't mentioned it before, there's a War-Table mission about the Hasmal Circle! Go look it up! Anyway, the Knight-Commander is someone else by the time of Inquisition...

I covered Tal's introduction to clan Manaria to make sure we have his little arc reaching conclusion almost simultaneously with Rosa and Solas. I sprinkled a certain hint in that lovable horny young elf's narration and *some* of you will catch it, others will not. Six chapters and an epilogue left! The BIG secret is yet coming!

* * *


	30. Phylactery Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The elf always takes the elf so that banging bits will mean something."—Sera to Solas w/ a romanced Lavellan in party banter. This chapter is NSFW
> 
> Rosa and Solas continue their escape plans by smashing their phylacteries and deal with serious fallout from the Templars. Tal makes formal introductions with clan Manaria's Keeper.

At the entrance to the phylactery storage room, Solas and Rosa clasped hands and took on the invisibility spell before opening the door. The hall outside was unchanged from when they'd entered. The Templar Rosa had put under using the knockout bomb snuffled and snored on the floor, twitching occasionally in his sleep.

"Do we kill him?" Rosa whispered from just behind Solas.

He shook his head before realizing that, with the stealth spell in place, she'd never see his nonverbal reply. "No," he said. "There is no need."

With the hall clear, Solas let the stealth spell dissipate and moved to shut the door to the phylactery room and re-secure the locks. They snapped, clicking as they locked with a turn of the appropriate key. When he'd finished, Solas tucked the keys back in his robes and turned to see Rosa had also let the stealth spell fade. He took Rosa's hand once more and let her lead him toward the stairwell.

The tower seemed quiet, despite the storm they both knew would break over it shortly. It might be a few hours yet before anyone began to wonder what had become of the Knight-Commander, but Solas suspected in less than a day the Templars would have pieced together the purpose of the attack and that their Knight-Commander was now dead. They'd begin investigating immediately.

At the thirteenth floor Solas heard a door whine on its hinges as it swung open. He adopted the stealth spell and, sensing Rosa had done the same, released her hand so they could hide independently of one another. Solas pressed himself into a corner on the landing and he heard the barest whisper of Rosa's feet as she brushed past him to hide on the level above.

The Templar tromped up the stairs, her bearing militant and alert—and therefore dangerous. As she reached the landing Solas had hidden on she froze, a perturbed expression warping her features through her helmet. Solas' hands clenched into fists as he kept a desperate grip on the stealth spell to reduce the ambient mana he produced, fearing that was what the woman sensed. But after a cursory sweep of the stairwell and the landing, the Templar continued on her way. She passed Rosa's level without pausing at all, her footsteps gradually receding.

Solas let the stealth spell die and waited until he heard the soft padding of Rosa's feet as she moved down the stairs to join him. Her hair was frazzled, coming out of her bun and braid, sticking to her forehead and neck where it was slick from perspiration. The constant fear of potential discovery had Solas' heart racing and his muscles taut as well. If they were caught they'd be killed, or made Tranquil. Although they knew Tranquility could be reversed, Solas had no desire to find out what it was like.

They continued downward, breath fast and feet gently scuffing over the stone. The nearness of the relative safety of their rooms was so close now they risked moving faster and with less stealth. But at the ninth level Rosa abruptly snatched his shoulder, hissing his name between her teeth. He stopped and faced her in the shadows of the mid-level landing between the tenth and ninth floors, his heart thundering in his ears. "What is it?"

"This level has a storage room the Tranquil maintain," she whispered and reached out to tap his chest, indicating the hidden keys from the Knight-Commander.

"A good place to hide," Solas murmured, nodding his understanding. It was also a floor reserved for enchanters and, as a result, would throw the Templars off when they eventually discovered the keys on this level.

Rosa plucked her lock picking knife from her belt and hurried down the last flight of stairs to reach the ninth level landing. Kneeling in front of it, she thrust it inside and began picking it. As soon as Solas heard the lock clack as the mechanism disengaged, he pressed close and took Rosa's hand, summoning the stealth spell yet again. She did the same and then the door opened with a slight whine, revealing an empty corridor.

Rosa led the way forward, tugging on his hand as she walked, silent feet passing over the stone floor. Solas eyed the doorways as they passed, seeing numbered rooms much like those in his own level of the tower where the mages resided. These rooms probably housed no more than two people each, however, meaning that although there were fewer enchanters than mages they had just as many levels in the tower.

Rounding a corner they saw a closed door that didn't have a number and had been labeled _STORAGE._ Holding the stealth spell in place, Solas felt Rosa release his hand and sensed her drop into a crouch to begin picking the lock. Her taps seemed obscenely loud as they echoed from the dour walls of the relatively narrow hall. Solas swayed from one foot to the other, trying to resist the desire to wring his hands with the stress.

Just as the door unlocked and swung open, Solas heard the heavy pound of armored boots as someone approached down the hall from the same direction they had. A quick check around the corner—still invisible—revealed a man moving stiffly, his gaze sweeping the hall and his hand at his sword hilt.

_Fenedhis,_ he thought and quickly moved to step into the storage room, brushing against Rosa. In the darkness of the room they both dropped the spell and Rosa shut the door behind them. They listened, hearts pounding seemingly as loud as their breathing, as the Templar walked slowly past. As his tread grew fainter, Solas let out a breath, shoulders slumping.

Rosa chuckled under her breath at his side, leaning close to whisper, "After we get out of this damned tower I _never_ want to see another Templar. _Ever."_

"Likewise," Solas agreed as he conjured fire in his palm to light the dark storage room, revealing a rectangular space lined with shelves. A musty smell hung in the air—herbs and metals. Solas turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning over everything, searching for a container that would see little use by the Tranquil and would therefore be a good hiding place.

"Up there," Rosa said, pointing to a high shelf in the right corner where Solas saw bundles of parchments had been rolled up.

Solas walked over to that shelf and reached high to slowly, carefully tug the documents off the shelf using only one hand. He examined the document briefly, a contemplative frown over his features. It was tied shut with a ribbon that held a tag. Solas cocked his head to try and read it. "Rock Armor Tonic," he read in a whisper.

"It's a recipe," Rosa said, reaching for the rolled up parchment. She held it high for him to see as she ran a finger along its length, dislodging a fine layer of gray dust. "And the Tranquil don't reference it very often…" She smirked.

Solas flashed a grin at her, his heart thumping faster for a very different reason now. "What a delightful find," he praised her, amused. This cleverness was just what he'd find ideal in an agent…

Digging into his robes with the hand that wasn't holding fire, Solas produced the keys, grimacing as they jangled. Rosa took them, clasping the keys themselves so they wouldn't clatter together. Then, slow and with care, she pushed the keys and their ring inside the circular opening of the rolled up parchment. It was a tight fit, making it slow, but when she passed the parchment back to him, Solas hummed with approval as he found the keys wouldn't slide about inside the parchment unless jostled violently. Clutching the parchment carefully in his fist, Solas replaced it high on the shelf.

"The only risk is that a Tranquil may notice that the dust has been disturbed," Solas commented. "But there is nothing to be done for that, unfortunately."

"Grab a few more of them," Rosa instructed as she dug out her knockout bombs. "I have to hide these too."

Solas nodded and did as she asked, snatching another parchment and loading the bombs into them—but only after he'd quickly imparted the same nonsense memories into them as he had with the keys. It was unlikely the Templars would be able to use the remote sensing tactic for a variety of reasons, but it had been common in Elvhenan so Solas didn't wish to risk it.

With that finished, they listened at the door for a few moments before holding hands again and going invisible. They left the door unlocked, lacking a key to lock it once more. That would likely tip off the Tranquil using it that something odd had happened, but hopefully it would still take them a long time to find the keys and the bombs. Solas suspected that the Templar who'd walked through a few minutes prior had been suspicious after finding the door to the ninth level unlocked. There was no sign of him, however, as they returned to the stairwell and the door had been left unlocked when he passed through.

At the door to the seventh floor—Solas' level of the tower—he stopped, planning to bid Rosa goodbye, but she brushed past him and through the door before he could stop her. Solas summoned the stealth spell just as the door opened and a Templar at the far end of the corridor froze mid-step, his mouth falling open with shock and his hand flying to his sword hilt.

Solas' stomach leapt into his throat as he darted through the door, as quietly as possible. Rosa was invisible and somewhere ahead of him, her spell shimmering the air ever so slightly.

"Who goes there?" the Templar demanded, trotting forward and drawing his blade with a metallic ringing.

Solas rounded the corner to the right immediately, just as the Templar barreled by to investigate the door and the stairwell. He padded down the hall, heading for his room, which would still be unlocked. The door opened before he reached it as Rosa, still invisible, passed through it. Solas lunged in after her, bumping into her before whipping around to shut the door as quietly as the invisibility spells ceased almost simultaneously.

Silence reigned then as they stood motionless, straining their ears to hear if the Templar would figure them out somehow, but the hall beyond the door was soundless. Eventually Solas' shoulders felt as he let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He sensed the sleeping spells still active over his roommates, who showed no sign that they'd waken at this latest disturbance. At least _that_ had gone according to plan.

"We have truly abysmal luck," Rosa lamented, as if reading his mind.

Gnashing his teeth, Solas whirled around on her, glaring. "Do you know what risk you place yourself in, _vhenan?_ If you had—"

"Had what?" she asked, scowling as she shook her head. "Left you? Then you would have spooked that Templar all by yourself."

"But now you must navigate back to your room with at least one suspicious guard patrolling about," Solas protested, gesturing angrily at the door. "You may be discovered!"

"We could both be discovered," Rosa countered with a dismissive swipe of one hand. Her violet eyes were fierce in the darkness, glimmering. "We could both die trying to escape, too."

"You should have set out at once for your room," Solas reprimanded. "It is the wisest course of action!"

"I don't care," she retorted and lunged for him, both hands on his cheeks as she pulled him into a kiss.

Despite his lingering flush of anger at her impulsive, dangerous decision to join him, Solas immediately reacted with desire. His heart hadn't ever stopped racing and his body was alive with the rush of fear and adrenaline. It was an easy thing for both mind and body to switch over to desperate, rampaging passion.

He pressed forward, his arms winding about her shoulders and then dropping to her waist. Rosa curved her body into his and parted her lips, accepting his tongue as he forded into her mouth to taste her more deeply. She sucked on his tongue, aggressive and suggestive in the way her lips and her own tongue moved over his. Solas' breath hitched and heat blossomed in his groin, setting him aching. Her lips were delicious with the addition of sweat from their dangerous trek through the tower. Desire clouded his mind, blasting away any thought other than bedding her, licking the salt off every inch of her skin.

Rosa seemed to have similar goals in mind as her hands tore greedily at his clothing, pulling off his belt and opening his robes. Her hands were hot and clammy as she scratched her nails over his chest and Solas moaned his appreciation. He returned the favor, unbuttoning the front of her robes to slide his hands inside and palm her breasts, thumbs teasing the nipples as he found she wore no breast band.

Laughing with delight, Rosa grabbed his partly undone robe and pulled him toward his bed. She fell backward onto it and Solas went with her, his hips still flush with hers as she opened her legs. Propping himself up with one elbow as his other hand moved to caress its way up her robes, pushing them out of the way, he nibbled at her lips and ear. Rosa moaned, her back arching beneath him and her leg twining around his hips.

As Solas' hand reached the flare of her hipbone beneath her robes, he realized with a thrill that she wasn't wearing anything beneath her clothes. He chuckled lasciviously as he kissed her on the lips again. "Planning for this encounter all evening, _vhenan?"_ he teased, voice husky.

Her lips were swollen from their enthusiastic kissing as she grinned. "I would be a fool not to." She gripped his chin with one hand and turned his head to the right to nip at his ear. "Take me," she taunted and Solas felt her other hand worming its way between them to grip his manhood and squeeze.

Gasping, he shuddered with pleasure and quickly fumbled with his robes to uncover himself and give her just what she wanted. Rosa arched to meet him and the slick heat of her over him robbed him of breath. She let out a hum from her throat, eyes fluttering with satisfaction.

He began to thrust, slow at first to let them both adjust to the sensation while he traced her jawline, neck, and ear with his lips and then the tip of his tongue. Her hands wound about his back, clutching him close as she ground against him, her body moving to complement his own. Solas pushed himself up with one hand while the other traveled low to tease her, conjuring magic as he went. He timed the motion of his hips with surges in his magic and felt her quiver in response, inside and out.

The cries of pleasure were building in her throat, waiting to be teased out. Solas cast a sound deadening spell over them, confident he had enough mana to last even when feeding her desire with magic. He felt her legs and thighs hooking around him, keeping him close, and he changed his angle to rub over her higher while lessening his own stimulation—not that he wanted for anything. A loss in concentration or control and he would be lost to the silky, hot, undulating body tight over his length.

She captured his lips in a kiss, moaning against his mouth. Solas did the same as she tilted her hips, sliding slickly over more of him. He gasped, his hand clenching into a fist on the bedspread as he struggled to resist the increasingly insistent threat of orgasm. He increased the flow of magic and pushed back from her to let his fingers tease between her legs.

She writhed, crying out and legs shaking. _"Fenedhis,"_ she moaned.

The sound of her nearly sent him over the edge, but he gnashed his teeth and slowed the pace of his hips, pressing deep into her and hoping she wouldn't move too eagerly. When he had regained some measure of control, Solas pressed close to nip at her throat and then at her breasts, hastily exposed by their earlier fumbling. He licked around her nipple and then closed his lips around it, sucking in time with his thrusts.

And that sent her into climax, shuddering and gasping, moaning and crying out. He felt the contractions of her muscles over him and tried to stay the course, but his own body crested before he could stop it. He grunted, hips bucking as he spilled inside her and rode out the waves of pleasure crashing over him. He collapsed as the bliss subsided, wrapping both arms about her and pulling her overtop of him as he relaxed, shuddering.

She nuzzled his neck and ear, sighing out her satisfaction. "That was _exactly_ what I needed after tonight."

He chuckled as he let the sound dampening spell die. "I could not agree more, _vhenan."_

She grinned and kissed him, tender and soft now that they'd slaked their passion. When the kiss broke, Solas brushed her hair out of her face from where loose strands of it had fallen out of her braid. "While I would happily sleep the night away with you, I fear you really must go."

"You're right." Rosa sighed, laying her head on his chest and digging her hand beneath his partly open robes to caress his skin. Solas shivered at her touch and stroked her back idly.

They lay together, cuddling and sharing warmth for a few more minutes before they rose and dressed properly once more. Solas lingered by the door, anxiously swaying from one foot to the other as they both strained their ears to listen to the hall outside. To be sure she'd be safe, Solas was the one who opened the door first, peeking out into the hall and then, when it appeared clear, allowed Rosa to slip past him. But he caught her before she'd gone more than a step, quickly pulling her for one last swift kiss.

"Be careful, _vhenan,"_ he whispered to her as soon as the kiss ended.

She nodded and summoned the stealth spell, vanishing. Solas watched the hallway for a few moments after she had disappeared before gradually shutting his door once more. Inside, he scrubbed his face, heart still beating and skin slick from sweat. _Please,_ he thought, though to who or what he aimed his hopes he couldn't say. _Let her be safe._

With nothing else he could do, Solas changed out of his robes and into his nightclothes and at last went to bed.

* * *

Clan Manaria was about half the size of Ghilath and it had a disturbing lack of children and young adults. Tal felt the weight of loss on this group, but the hope he saw in their eyes as they greeted him left him beaming. They had no First and no Second, only their Keeper who was about Rosa's age but already tired and weary from her burdens. Yet she had promptly declared the night a time of celebration after meeting Tal and the clan set to work to make it so.

The clan could not have had a better home, as far as Tal was concerned. Their aravels and halla stood on the banks of a river, beside a waterfall surrounded by high, rocky cliffs. The river Tal and the marauders had followed in spilled over the edge of a sudden depression in the rolling, forested hills. Inside that depression, the river flowed like a strip of blue satin, sizable and full of brook trout. Tal saw numerous fishing nets stretched out to dry along the riverbank and his mouth watered as he anticipated the fish dinner he would likely receive in the clan's celebration.

The clan was focused on defense now, after losing so many to slavers and bandits in the recent season. Though there were few of them, they remained vigilant with sentries along the right above and below and the Keeper explained that they had several ward traps to catch slavers and bandits. When Tal wondered aloud why he and the marauders hadn't been caught in their traps, the Keeper laughed with amusement.

"What?" Tal asked, shaking his head.

The elven woman smirked at him. "The wards are race specific. They only activate when _shemlen_ pass through them."

Tal's eyed widened. "I've never heard of a spell like that…"

The Keeper sobered, staring into her lap. "It's blood magic, Tal."

"Oh." He stared at her a long moment, searching his emotions and finding that, other than the Chantry censure of blood magic, he didn't care much one way or another. So, he shrugged. "Interesting."

The Keeper—he still didn't know her first name—eyed him with a speculative look, but she didn't speak. They were inside her aravel, seated on a few cushions covered in softened leather. It was a comfy place, roomier than his mother's aravel had been. A few texts were piled up in one far corner, beside an elevated platform where a bedroll and several pelts had been spread out, as if the Keeper enjoyed reading while lounging in bed. The thought made Tal smile, and that seemed to prompt the Keeper into speaking once more.

"Are you comfortable learning blood magic? I was taught several spells and they're integral to our survival now as I will _not_ allow the _shemlen_ to get the better of us again."

"Sure," Tal said, shrugging again. "I enjoy learning everything. I was never apprenticed in my birth clan, so I'm always thirsty for more."

"You were never apprenticed?" she asked, frowning. "But you're quite skilled—even injured." Tal had given a quick demonstration using Zevanni's special short stave to show the Keeper he was skilled immediately after meeting her.

"No," Tal confirmed, clearing his throat as he felt a blush steal over his cheeks. "My Keeper hated me because he was betrothed to my mother before the Arlathvhen about twenty years ago, but while he was away my father came in and swept her right off her feet." He grinned, proud of this story, even though it had resulted in a life of abuse at his Keeper's hands.

The Keeper appeared intrigued, so Tal went on. "See, the clan came under attack by snooty Orlesian nobles who thought hunting Dalish was like hunting wild boars or something. A real sport and a spot of fun to be had, as if we weren't _people_ but were animals."

"Dread Wolf take them," the Keeper snarled.

"Yeah," Tal agreed with a nod. "Anyway, so in the middle of the first attack when the nobles came at the clan with dogs and swords and astride their horses, my father shows up. He busts in there out of nowhere, fireballs the dogs, freezes the horses, and lightning bolts the nobles all in their armor." Tal imitated the jerking, twitching motions of someone being electrocuted and the Keeper laughed with delight, covering her lips as she did so, blue eyes gleaming.

"And turned out the nobles weren't up for a _real_ fight, so they turned tail and beat feet. My father was drained and half-dead from the effort, but my mother, the hearth-keeper's apprentice back then, took him in and cared for him. Aaaand…" He let the word drag out a moment as he grinned, snapping his fingers. "She was smitten. And he was too. By the time the Keeper came back a month or so later, it was way too late because I was already growing in my mother's womb."

Sobering slightly, Tal sighed. "I think he especially hated me because if I hadn't come along so soon, my father probably would have left, even loving my mother. He had…other responsibilities, I guess. He was gone a lot even with me there to keep him around. If I hadn't been around, the Keeper would've probably gotten over my mother's _indiscretion_ and bonded with her anyway." He snorted, his face twisting with the sourness he felt inside. "He's probably bonded with her since I left, actually."

"It was beyond foolish of him to have refused to take you as an apprentice," the Keeper said, her blue eyes sad though her lips quirked down with anger. "My Keeper would have apprenticed you over me. I am nothing special. Without using my own blood for mana I could not cast winter and lightning, my two weakest schools." She looked sheepish, her cheeks blushing.

"Don't run yourself down," Tal told her with a shake of his head. "You're a leader and your Keeper must have seen something in you, and so does this clan."

She smiled at him, closed-lipped but genuine as her eyes crinkled at the edges. She looked quite beautiful when she smiled, Tal thought. Her hair was pale though her skin was dark from work in the sun, almost the olive shade of Rosa's. She wore Sylaise's vallasin, a pattern very similar to his mother's.

" _Ma serannas,_ Tal," she told him with a small nod. "And…I wish to formally welcome you to clan Manaria, if you decide to stay with us. I would be honored to take you as my First apprentice." She paused a moment, her blue eyes searching over his face as her features darkened with a tension Tal couldn't quite read, but it set his heart fluttering anyway. "And, perhaps in time, we might become something more, as well."

Tal stared at her a moment, his guts twisting with nervousness and excitement. To bond with the Keeper was a high honor, though in this case he suspected it was more out of necessity than because she found him especially _dashing._ With so few young people in the clan, this Keeper would prioritize repopulating the group and one such responsibility would be producing more magically-gifted children. Tal had liked to consider himself a _stud_ before, but now it seemed he might become one _literally._ He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but…he _had_ wanted to help these people…

A slow grin spread over his face. "I'd like a little more time to consider it, but I'd be honored to accept." He dipped his head in a show of respect for a moment before straightening again, eyes narrowed. "I do have one very important question, though."

She smirked at him. "And that is?"

"Your name, _hahren,"_ Tal said.

She shook her head slowly, lips puckering as though she wanted to laugh or smile but held it in. "I am Nola," she replied and then, blushing, she laughed. "I suppose I should tell you my _full_ name and not my nickname. This is supposed to be a very formal occasion, you know." She edged a little closer on the cushions and cleared her throat as she began again. "I am Keeper Nolava of clan Manaria."

Imitating her playfully, Tal laid a hand over his chest and gave another little bow from his seated position. As he sat upright again he said, "And _I,_ milady, am Tal of clan Ghilath. And, since we're being oh so formal, I suppose I should also give you my full name." He exaggeratedly cleared his throat as she snickered under her breath at his antics and said:

"I am Talassan, formerly of clan Ghilath."

* * *

It was at lunchtime the day after Solas and Rosa destroyed the phylacteries before the Templars reacted. When the usual knock on their door came at about midday, Solas and his roommates assumed it would be a Templar and a Tranquil carrying meals for them. Instead when Francis opened the door a Templar muscled past him and pushed the mage backward. Adwen yelped and caught the other man, but Francis quickly recovered and pushed him away.

The Templar strode in, glaring through the narrow slots of his helmet, and said, "All classes for the rest of today and all tomorrow are canceled. There will also be no further meals."

"What?" Adwen asked, mouth hanging open. "For how long?"

"And why?" Francis asked, shaking his head. "What's happened now?"

"There was an attack," the Templar growled, glowering. Sniffing, he panned about the room, eyes sweeping over Solas only briefly before dismissing him. Solas had been sitting on his bed, practicing the meditation techniques to stretch his mana core, but the Templar's arrival interrupted that. He stayed silent, feigning concern as he stared at the Templar, but let his roommates do the talking.

"An attack?" Adwen asked, still gawking. "What do you—"

"All three of you into the hall now," the Templar ordered, stabbing a finger toward the door.

"Why?" Francis snarled, holding his ground even as Adwen scurried to obey. Solas also rose obediently to his feet and moved to follow the other elf.

"This is a room search," the Templar explained and, unceremoniously, snatched Francis by the arm and shoved him roughly to the door. He collided with Solas, who managed to stay on his feet despite the other mage's heavier weight. Francis cursed under his breath but walked into the hall with Solas.

Outside three more Templars and a Tranquil stood by. The Templars watched with barely concealed hate and hostility, bristling as they watched the three mages. Solas kept his back straight and his muscles taut. His mana bubbled with his anxiety, but he kept it in check and refused to glance back into the room as he heard the other Templar rooting through it. The bed thumped and drawers groaned as the man tore them from the small dresser on Adwen and Francis' side of the room.

"You three are Francis, Adwen, and Revas?" the Tranquil asked. He held a clipboard with a candle that flickered atop it in one hand while the other held a quill with a black tip.

"Yes," Francis answered for them, frowning. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Andraste's ass, what's the meaning of this? What's going on? Do the Templars plan on starving us now? Is that it?"

"There was an attack," the Tranquil man said in his usual monotone as he scribbled on a parchment on his clipboard, writing their names. "I am not at liberty to divulge the full details of the attack. However, I must inquire if the three of you were aware of any disturbances last night?"

"No," Francis snapped. "I slept like a Maker-damned rock. Didn't even dream. Nothing happened."

Adwen nodded in agreement. "Me too. Didn't hear anything. It was a quiet night, like it always is."

"I heard nothing worth noting," Solas replied smoothly, lying. He refused to blush or reveal the nervousness tightening in his gut. He'd made contact with Rosa after she left his room the previous night, so he knew she had managed to reach her room. Still, he could not afford to give anything away now. He heard the slight rustle and clank of the Templars behind him as they shifted their stances, listening and watching the interrogation.

From inside the room came the scream of fabric ripping and now all three mages turned, alarmed by the noise. Francis hissed under his breath, hands fidgeting at his sides, and a heartbeat later the Templar stomped out of their room clutching a blade meant to be attached to the end of a stave. He lifted it high so it caught the light glinting in from the glow lamps along the hall. "Which one of you bastards owns this?" he demanded.

"It's mine," Francis growled. "A souvenir I bought when I visited Tevinter a decade a ago." His voice held a challenge in it and he glared daggers at the Templar holding the blade.

"Weapons are not allowed," the Templar snarled. For the past year the Templars had been confiscating anything that could be used as a weapon from the mages. It seemed Francis had been determined to hide this, but his luck was out now. He motioned to the three other Templars standing nearby before Francis could protest. "Take him away."

"Don't you touch me!" Francis jerked backward, away from the Templars approaching him, bumping into the Tranquil and jostling both Solas and Adwen. The elves retreated a few steps away from him, as if Francis had the Blight and they feared catching it. "That blade is rightfully _mine._ " The air thrummed, heavy with the promise of hostile magic.

"Please, Francis," Adwen said, trying to pacify him. "It's not worth—"

"I spent _thousands_ on it," Francis yelled. "You can't just—"

"Stand down. _Now._ Or there will be serious repercussions." The three Templars stomped closer, pushing past Solas, knocking him into the wall hard enough that he felt his elbow smart from the impact. He didn't protest and hung back, watching with Adwen as Francis' situation went from bad to worse.

"I _will not_ just—"

The sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard echoed through the hall, making Solas wince and his heart begin suddenly pounding. Adwen let out a groan almost with pain, covering his mouth as he said, "Oh no, no, no…"

"You think you can just bully us like this?" Francis demanded. He lifted his hands and Solas saw the spark of fire ignite in his palms, though it was weak and the fear in Francis' face was painfully obvious in the way his chin wrinkled and his eyes were as wide as they'd go. The other Templars drew their swords as well, all except the man still holding the staff blade, who remained glaring at Solas and Adwen warily.

"Stand down," the Templar who'd spoken earlier repeated. "This is your _last_ chance, mage."

"Why should I?" Francis demanded, snarling. "Your friend over there just told us there won't be any meals! Are you going to starve us until someone turns over a scapegoat for the crime you _claim_ one of us committed?" Francis' shoulders heaved, his nostrils flared and his cheeks were ruddy with rage, winning out over the fear that clearly showed in his face as well. "You think _that_ will—"

The Templar who'd ordered Francis to stand down made a motion at the other Templars, subtle and quick, and suddenly the center man channeled his power through his sword, setting it glowing blue. The harsh ringing blast of the magic annulment filled the hall, making all three mages grimace as it washed over them. For a heartbeat the fire burning in Francis' hands went out and that was when the first Templar struck.

Lunging in with his sword, the Templar stabbed upward for Francis' stomach, but the mage twisted and ducked. The swing missed its mark, going high, and plunged into Francis' shoulder instead. He screamed, scrambling away and clutching at the wound, breathing fast. Pain and rage twisted his face and Solas knew in that instant that Francis would fight rather than submit, even at the cost of his life.

"Maker take you, son of a bitch," Francis shouted and hurled a fireball at the Templar who'd stabbed him. That Templar backpedaled, glowing sword raised, and channeled more magic-annulling power in a wave of blue that rang shrilly in Solas' ears. It knocked out Francis' fireballs, but not before one found its target. The Templar let out a muted scream, slapping at his armor as the leather portions caught fire.

His two comrades charged closer in unison, closing on Francis before he could regain use of his mana. One skewered Francis through the belly while the other punched him in the face. The viciousness of the assault left both Adwen and Solas motionless, stunned with how suddenly things had deteriorated. Solas' heart whooshed in his ears and he swallowed nervously, hoping that Rosa had the sense not to resist the Templars when they searched her room in this way.

Francis slumped to the stone floor, catching himself on his knees and clutching at his belly as blood poured in a constant splatter from his wounds. He had gone ashen almost immediately, but rage still shone in his eyes as he sneered up at the Templars standing over him. "Maker damn the lot of you," he snarled, voice strained and quavering.

"He will not survive that wound," the Tranquil observed blankly. The monotone of his voice and the grimness of the topic made Solas' skin crawl. He had not known Francis or liked him all that much, but the man had certainly not deserved _this._

"Surely you will not let him die over a property dispute?" Solas asked, his voice thin and with a note of pleading.

The Templar still holding the staff-blade narrowed his eyes at Solas through the slits in his helmet. "Would you like to join him?" he asked.

Solas clenched his jaw and glared at the man, remaining silent though his guts twisted at his powerlessness.

The Templar looked away from Solas and called to the Tranquil. "Jared," he said and the Tranquil stared at him expectantly. "Do you have a healing poultice on you?"

"I was instructed to carry such supplies in case of conflict, yes," Jared answered.

The Templar grunted and motioned toward where Francis had now collapsed in the ever-expanding pool of his own blood. "Go on then, rabbits. Seal his wounds with fire. Then Jared will use the healing poultice."

"What?" Adwen said, almost squawking. "Why not a healing spell?"

Solas merely glared, confident he understood this Templar's full depravity now as a sadist. He had no desire to save Francis' life except as a chance to punish him further. Solas debated inwardly whether it'd be wise to place himself at risk by volunteering and if letting Francis die would be a mercy or not considering that he'd inevitably wind up a prisoner on this Templar's watch.

"Do as I say," the man snarled, motioning toward Francis. "No healing spells. Close his wounds with fire."

"That'll just kill him," Adwen protested, horrified. "I—I can't, I don't have the precision to close wounds like that."

"Then you mustn't really want to save him after all," the Templar snarled.

Solas _did_ possess such precision, though it wasn't something he'd ever done. Using fire was barbaric when spirit magic did it painlessly and by design. The energy of the Fade, the ether, was life itself. The Templar stared at Solas, his menacing glower daring him to try. Solas knew that if Rosa had been in this position she would have tried to save Francis, regardless of the risk it might bring on herself. Turning away was safe but also cowardly. Francis had brought this on himself, but it was Solas and Rosa who'd caused the room search and the increased lockdown. They bore as much blame as the Templars.

"I will try," Solas volunteered through gritted teeth.

"Be my guest," the man said, motioning down the hall. "Be quick, mage. He looks pretty dead already to me."

Solas strode quickly forward and knelt to where Francis had collapsed, facedown in his own blood and gore. The red-black blood crawled along the large stone tiles, filling every crevice and imperfection with tiny crevice rivers and lakes. It was like staring down at a battlefield from the Evanuris' floating city—now trapped in the Fade and known as the Black City. Solas had seen just such desolation during resurgent conflicts with the Forgotten Ones while he still reigned as an Evanuris but plotted rebellion on the sly. In those battles Dirthamen had used altered Blight magic as a weapon against the Forgotten Ones' indoctrinated drones and beasts, painting the landscape red.

Blinking, he forced away those memories and gripped Francis' shoulder, rolling him over. Through the man's robes he saw the abdominal wound, ragged and ugly. The yellow of fat and the gray of intestine were just visible through the mess of blood. Solas laid his hands on the wound and saw Francis wince, though the action was weak and faint. The other mage shook uncontrollably and Solas sensed the prickle of chaotic magic as Francis struggled to find the will to make his magic into something useful to save himself. He probably wouldn't manage it in time with how rapidly he was losing blood.

Drawing in a breath, Solas reached for the mana, willing it into fire that would be small but intense. Glancing to Francis, though the other man's eyes were glazed and unfocused, he said, "I'm sorry. This will hurt." And then he unleashed the spell.

Francis screamed, his body snapping taut and his hands shaking as he tried to push Solas away—but he was too weak. The smell of burning flesh flooded Solas' nose and he grimaced with disgust but continued the work. He had enough mana now to comfortably perform the spell quickly, but he purposefully drew it out to hide the fullness of his abilities from the watching Templars. After only a few seconds Francis went limp, passing out from the pain. His flesh sizzled and smoke rose from the wound, churning Solas' stomach at this unnecessary cruelty.

And then it was over. The wound was an ugly black streak over Francis' abdomen, scorched and charred. Solas checked briefly over the shoulder wound and found it was shallow enough that it had already sealed over on its own. A small mercy for Francis.

"All right," the Templar snapped. "Back to your room." He snatched Solas' shoulder, jerking him up and pushing him back toward Adwen. "Jared, get the poultice on this stupid son of a bitch. We have the rest of this level to search."

"Wait!" Adwen protested and the Templar swung his head around to glare dangerously at the elven mage. "When will meals resume? Do you really intend to starve us until someone comes forward?"

"Get back in your room," the Templar ordered him, growling.

"But—"

Solas grabbed Adwen by the shoulder and pulled him into the room, muttering under his breath, "If you do not wish to find yourself in a position similar to Francis, I suggest you do as he orders."

The door to their room slammed shut with a resounding clang-thump.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"But that was not what I wished to tell you," Halesta admitted, sobering a moment later. She frowned, glancing over Rosa's shoulder toward the ruins, brilliant white in the moonlight. "A few nights back your father summoned me to his dream to warn me that you and Talassan were in danger."

At the mention of Eolas, Rosa scoffed derisively. "He has some nerve," she growled, withdrawing a step from her mother, hands clenching into fists. _"Fenedhis,_ Dread Wolf take him."

* * *

A/N: The end is NIGH. You might have been able to guess that from a certain something revealed this chapter...but if you didn't see it, well, next chapter I will reveal things explicitly. Think you saw the subtle but BIG secret I dropped this chapter? Write in and see if you got it right...


	31. Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The blood of your family is on my hands. What does it matter how I came to my decision?"—Celene (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas endures the Templar-enforced hunger strike. In the Fade, he meets his agent Zevanni and learns a horrible truth about the Dalish siblings that will change everything. Rosa speaks with her mother in the dreaming.

Hunger made the long hours pass in grueling slowness. Solas alternated between performing mana core strengthening exercises and physical conditioning activities such as stretches, sit-ups, and push-ups. Adwen mostly paced and wrung his hands, talking aloud to himself with anxiety. Soon both their stomachs were growling, as if trying to compete with one another.

When night settled outside, Solas promptly retired to bed, doing his best to ignore the gnawing emptiness of his stomach now that they'd missed both lunch and dinner. Thirst was the far more worrying issue. He missed Elvhenan for entirely different reasons than usual now at that thought because with the Fade overlaying reality he could have easily summoned water from the very air. Instead he would have to go thirsty.

Sleep took him quickly despite his physical discomfort and Solas found himself in a narrow valley with rocky, sheer cliff-sides bordering him on either side. The rocks were moist, carved and worn smooth by the passage of clean, clear water over their surfaces. Ivy, moss, and lichen grew along the cliffs and here and there, wherever they could find purchase, small blossoming trees dangled willow-like branches over the rocks.

Solas inhaled deeply, smelling the rich scent of fertile earth, flowers, and mulch. He recognized this place—Mythal's gardens outside Arlathan. Turning away from the cliffs, Solas walked over the damp, soft carpet of emerald green grass and toward a small bridge made of lavender crystal that stretched over a placid river flowing underneath. Green and white orbs hung in the air, lighting the mist that clung over the garden. Fade ether twined through the grasses and rose from the water, and wisps darted about the cliffs like butterflies or lightning bugs.

He sensed another Dreamer and a heartbeat later saw Rosa standing beside the crystalline bridge. She gazed around the garden, looking over the water and the bridge, lips parted slightly and eyes wide with awe. As Solas drew near she turned to him and asked, "What is this place?"

Solas smiled at her. The diffuse glow from the orbs overhead cast her features in a soft light. The paleness of her vallaslin against her olive skin was the only flaw in this perfect scene of beauty and peace. Solas' fingers twitched, longing to remove those marks, but he held the desire in check.

"What?" she asked, giving her head a small shake though her lips curled into a tender smile. Her eyes glistened as they flicked over his face.

"A better answer to your question, _vhenan,_ is _when_ this is," he replied to her softly, enjoying the awe and enjoyment he saw wash over her. He could almost feel it for himself, carried in the Fade, and repressed a shiver.

"This is Elvhenan," she whispered, spinning in a slow circle to take in the garden once more. "Arlathan."

"Yes," Solas confirmed, watching her reaction rather than taking in the garden for himself. The Fade had created this place from his memory so the garden held no surprises for him. "I once tutored students in magic here." He paused a moment before adding, "When I was not fighting the empire's wars."

Rosa shook her head slowly, dazzled. She laid a hand tentatively over the crystalline bridge they stood beside, caressing it. "I wish I had seen it," she murmured reverently. "I wish the People could make all of this again. We tried in the Dales, but…"

Eager to keep her mood from souring at the memory of what the humans had done to the Dales, Solas reached out and laid a hand on her cheek, brushing his thumb over the soft skin. As she met his gaze, he said, "I wish you had seen it as well. You would have outshone all others in the court."

She snorted, but her eyes were warm with love. "Flatterer. There's no way I could have competed with the likes of Mythal, Sylaise, Andruil, or—"

"In my eyes," Solas told her seriously. "There would be no contest."

She blushed, averting her eyes to look at the bridge and the water, wisps and orbs hovering overhead to light the mist. "I…don't know what to say," she murmured. "Except…thank you." Her eyes glimmered; growing moist so that they glittered even in the gentle, diffuse light. "If you hadn't been here in this tower to help me and Tal—" She broke off, swallowing hard. Her eyes shut and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Solas brushed it away with his thumb as he moved in close to embrace her. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan,"_ he told her, stroking her hair as she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled into his chest. "Let us not dwell on the past when the future is far more important."

She shivered in his arms. "We went hungry today for lunch and dinner. And they searched our room. When Manda protested they beat her so badly she lost a tooth."

Solas sighed, tightening his hold on her. "It was the same with us, except Francis was nearly killed. He may yet die, despite what little I was allowed to do to attempt to save him."

"What are we supposed to do, Solas?" she asked, pulling back enough to tilt her head up to look at him. Her violet eyes were dark and her brow furrowed. "Will they really starve us? How are we supposed to rebel when everyone's locked up?"

Drawing in a short breath, Solas said, "They may choose to enact the Rite of Annulment and kill every mage within the tower. If that comes to pass, we will have no choice but to fight our way from the tower."

"Alone?" Rosa asked and Solas didn't miss the quaver in her voice, the raw fear at the prospect.

Grimly, Solas nodded. "We could not risk seeking out each other—or the orb. Take on invisibility using the stealth spell and flee. Should we both survive, we will find one another outside."

"You can't leave the orb," Rosa protested, a mixture of alarm and anger coloring her features and her voice.

"The orb is meaningless if I am not alive to safeguard it," Solas reminded her and then, remembering what Zevanni had told him about Tal intending to take the orb to give to their father, he gripped Rosa by the shoulders and squeezed firmly as he said, "Promise me, _vhenan,_ that you will not go after the orb alone."

She matched his stare with her own, unflinching. "I promise."

Solas nodded, quashing the anxious, paranoid voice in the back of his mind that insisted he could not trust her to keep that promise. "Thank you," he told her.

"Do you think it's likely?" she asked, the words strangled. "Do you think they'll truly try to slaughter all the mages?"

"No," Solas replied, smiling to reassure her. "I believe this was a scare tactic that will yield no results, forcing them to try a new method using the phylacteries."

"Whichever phylacteries are missing," Rosa said with a somber nod. "Those are their suspects." She pinched her lips together in a hard line. "What will they do with us? Imprison us? Torture us one by one?"

"We destroyed far too many phylacteries for such an action to be feasible. It would take them months to interrogate and imprison every suspect." He frowned, thinking for a moment. "I suspect it will be something swift and dramatic."

"Like?" Rosa prompted, eyebrow arched. She was tense in his arms, as if ready to fight Templars now.

Solas turned his head, jerking his chin to indicate the gardens around them. "I cannot be certain, but I intend to watch the Knight-Captain's dreams until I learn more." Stepping back from her, Solas moved to stand at the foot of the crystal bridge, extending a hand out to her in invitation. "Would you care to join me, _vhenan?_ I'm afraid it will be far less pleasant than the garden, but necessary nonetheless."

Rosa squared her shoulders, smirking as she clasped his hand tightly in her own. "I thought you'd never ask, flat-ear."

* * *

Despite their fears that the Templars would enact the Rite of Annulment, the next morning a Tranquil visited their room with wine and water and bread. Solas and Adwen accepted their allotment eagerly and asked after Francis from the two Templars chaperoning the Tranquil. The men ignored the elves' questions, however, and left them clueless as to Francis' fate.

Classes remained canceled and so Solas and Adwen spent a long day cooped up inside the small room. Solas meditated primarily, but also honed his muscles with stretches and exercise. Adwen read or paced or chattered at Solas without expecting an answer. At lunch the Tranquil and his Templar escort returned with more bread and water. The knock of the door made Solas' body snap taut and set him sweating, tense as he feared this might be Templars coming to execute them, but his concerns proved unfounded at both breakfast and lunch. Dinner was also the same, but now they received a simple meal of stew to satisfy their daily protein requirements.

"D'you think someone confessed?" Adwen asked as they ate dinner.

"If so, I doubt its validity," Solas muttered between mouthfuls.

"Do you think there even _was_ an attack on one of the Templars?" Adwen asked in a hushed, angry voice.

"Considering they have given us no proof," Solas said with a frown. "I have my doubts regarding the validity of that claim as well." A lie, of course, but Adwen didn't need to know that.

"Andraste help us," Adwen said with a groan. "I never thought something like this would happen to us."

"If they enact the Rite of Annulment and come to kill us, will you fight?" Solas asked his roommate, pinning him with a hard stare.

"I don't want to die," Adwen said, almost whimpering. Swallowing, he said, "I'd fight. But I've never used my magic to fight. I wouldn't even know how, really. It's not like they left me or you or anyone with a staff."

"The staff merely focuses your power," Solas said. "You can be deadly without one." He paused a beat, eying his roommate critically before asking, "Would you like me to teach you?"

Adwen's face twisted with both shock and excitement. "Can you fight Templars, Revas?" he whispered.

Solas smiled patiently. _I can fight anything._ But what he said was, "I believe I can manage, particularly if I have a partner to aid me."

Adwen set his bowl of stew aside and scooted to the edge of his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Then teach me, Revas. It's not like we have anything else to do."

Solas nodded, his smile genuine now. "Very well."

They went through techniques, strategy, and footwork specifically for combating Templars for about an hour before lights-out. Adwen was fairly weak as a mage, at least without a staff, but he might still stand a chance with someone like Solas at his side.

As he slipped into the Fade for the night, determined to work with Rosa manipulating the Knight-Captain's dreams again, Solas was surprised to feel another's insistent tug on him. Realizing it must be Zevanni checking in, Solas allowed himself to be pulled into her dream and opened his eyes to see he stood alongside a fast-flowing river in a deep depression beneath a waterfall. Aravels lined the shore, pressed against the undercut stone and rock of the depression. Several small fires crackled and Solas saw the hazy forms of sleeping elves nearby. Ahead of him, standing at the edge of the water, stood Zevanni, looking tense.

" _Hahren,"_ she greeted, sounding stiff.

" _Falon,"_ Solas returned with a nod, jaw clenching as the cold of foreboding settled in his stomach as if he'd swallowed a block of ice. "You have news?"

"I…" Zevanni broke off, frowning and looking away. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Was it anger or fear she felt? Solas wasn't certain, but he did know this hesitation was anything but characteristic of her.

"Speak," he commanded her, his voice gruff. "I have much to do this night. I cannot tarry."

Zevanni dipped her chin, acknowledging his command, but she didn't meet his eye and instead stared off at the aravels behind him. "Last night I visited the dreams of the Keeper in this clan, called Manaria. I hoped to learn what she and Tal discussed while he was away from me."

"Has he decided to remain with them?" Solas asked, eager for Zevanni to return to Hasmal. "I have need of you. The rebellion is nigh."

Zevanni nodded. "He will likely remain, yes, and we will leave in the morning for the tower. But that is not what concerns me, _hahren."_ She sighed, short but loud. "I'll be blunt. Tal told me numerous times that he was named for his father. It made little sense to me as we know his father's name was Eolas."

"Yes," Solas replied, hazarding a guess as he added, "You learned another of his names is Tal?"

Zevanni let out a grunting laugh, tight and strained. "Not exactly. I learned _Tal_ is a nickname." She paused a moment, fidgeting as her eyes met with his directly now. "His full name is _Talassan._ "

"Two hundred arrows," Solas translated, the words soft as his heart suddenly began to hammer and his body went cold with shock. He glared at Zevanni. "No," he growled. " _Felassan._ That cannot be…"

"What Dalish woman would name her son Slow Arrow?" Zevanni asked, shaking her head. "Of course Fenesvir would take that name for himself in this _shem-_ world, but how would a Dalish woman honor the father of her child when he had such an untraditional, even _blasphemous_ name? As soon as I heard Tal say it in the Keeper's dream, I _knew_ it could not be coincidence."

"No," Solas repeated, shaking his head, feeling dizzy with horror. "Felassan _cannot_ be Eolas." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I knew him from boyhood as you did not. He was Mythal's, a child of _her_ court—not Dirthamen's." Felassan could _not_ be Eolas, Dirthamen's son. It was _impossible…_

"What was his birth name?" Zevanni pressed, edging forward. "Can you be _sure_ he wasn't taken in by Mythal as an infant and renamed?"

Felassan had had numerous names pre-Veil. Solas had first met him as a boy of about ten, when he had been called Evunial. _Evunial…_ he thought and winced, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. _Ivun. The ancestor Rosa claimed used the name Ivun._ Had Rosa altered it from Evunial to be absolutely certain Solas wouldn't identify her so-called ancestor—her _father_ in actuality? Or had Felassan woken and adopted Ivun as an alias?

" _Hahren?"_ Zevanni prompted.

Solas forced himself to lift his head and stare past her toward the steadily flowing river behind her. "His birth name was Evunial." He knew Zevanni would see the connections.

"Evunial? That's awfully similar to Ivun." She pinched her lips together, brows arching in a concerned look though her eyes were dark. "If he is _Eolas_ …"

 _If he was Dirthamen's son all along, and I never knew…_ Solas felt nauseous and dizzy as a panicky beat fluttered in his skull. Had Felassan been a double agent? _No,_ a voice insisted within him. He'd known Felassan too well and too long. If he had been Dirthamen's puppet all along Solas should have failed countless times over. Felassan had allowed Mythal to die, choosing loyalty to Fen'Harel and the rebellion over his own adopted mother. He had been loyal, right until the moment he defied Solas and died at his hands.

 _Died at my hands._ Solas closed his eyes again, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. _I killed Rosa's father._ He heard again Felassan's last words, echoing through his memory and resounding with new meaning: _"This world deserves a chance. They are greater than you know!"_ And then, the apology he'd uttered as he lay dying. Solas had given it little thought in the moment, too distraught and angry with his old friend for defying him, forcing him to kill him. Now he realized all of what Felassan had said, his defiance and his defense of this shem-world, it was for his children.

"He was loyal," Solas said, the words thin and quiet.

Zevanni's lips parted with sudden shock. " _Was?_ He _was_ loyal?"

"He failed in his mission and defied me," Solas told her, deadpan. He squared his shoulders and tucked his hands behind his back, stern and authoritative. He owed no explanations, no defense for his actions. His agents knew the cost of betrayal and defiance. The Dread Wolf had no sympathy for traitors and insubordination.

Zevanni nodded once, brow furrowed but her jaw clenched. "Then unfortunately we will not be able to confirm this with him." She hesitated a beat before asking, "How long was he awake in this world, _hahren?_ He had aged the last I saw him, but has it truly been long enough that he could have fathered Tal and his sister?"

"Yes," Solas replied, swallowing again to try and quash the pressure of grief and shock—and regret. He felt the Fade tug on him, a sure sign that someone else, likely Rosa, was calling for him. He ignored it, unable to consider dealing with Rosa just yet with this new, stunning knowledge of just _who_ she was. Not just the granddaughter of Dirthamen, the great-granddaughter of Mythal and Elgar'nan, but the child of one of his closest friends.

The friend he'd killed.

" _Could_ he have served Dirthamen?" Zevanni asked, shaking her head. "You _must_ consider that possibility, _hahren._ Clearly, if Felassan was their father he knew Dirthamen's pet stealth spell. He _must_ have known that smug bastard to learn it from him…"

Solas was silent, glaring down at the water of the river, listening to it gurgle and trickle over the rounded rocks to lap at Zevanni's heels. Felassan had worked with the Dalish for more than two decades, traveling between clans. He must have woken in the Breciliann Forest to be cared for by clan Naseral, where he met and bedded Rosa's mother. From there he'd gone to the Dales, intermingling with clan Ghilath and siring Tal. Solas recalled Rosa's story of contacting her "mentor," who even then he suspected was actually her father, Eolas, and traveling to the Storm Coast to wait for him to help her. It'd happened about a year ago and her mentor had never appeared. Solas realized with a sinking sensation that that corresponded to when he'd commanded Felassan to leave the Dales for the Western Approach, where Lyris and Mathrel, his arcane warriors, were waking from uthenera. He'd had to care for them for a few months, through the winter.

Felassan had abandoned his daughter to possession because of Solas' orders.

 _Fenedhis…_ Solas had been the one to orchestrate his own accidental meeting with the siblings. More than that, his orders to Felassan had been what must have driven him to leave clan Naseral and Rosa behind, as well as Tal later. The Dalish siblings' poor relationship with their father was _Solas'_ fault.

 _Why didn't you tell me?_ He railed against his old friend, feeling rage scald his blood. _Why did you hide them?_ Had Felassan thought Solas would kill him for it? Had he thought Solas was a threat to his children?

 _Rosa knows nothing of the Fall of Arlathan._ He and Zevanni had wondered at the gaps of knowledge Tal and Rosa's father had left them with. Now it made far too much sense. Felassan had been hiding who he truly was, who he truly served. But _why_ wasn't entirely clear. He knew this world would be doomed. His only chance to save his children would be recruiting them, but he hadn't and instead had defied Solas, even though it was futile and only ended in his death.

" _Hahren?"_ Zevanni repeated, a note of pleading in her voice.

Drawing in a breath, Solas pushed those thoughts away and tabled his emotions as he looked to her. He could not let this paralyze him. He had to accept it and move on, use it to his advantage if he could…

That thought left him nauseous, shame stabbing between his ribs. _This is why Felassan hid them from me,_ he thought. Because he hadn't trusted _Fen'Harel_ with the lives of his children. On some level, Felassan had known Rosa and Tal, born in this shem-world, would be lambs to the slaughter as half-bloods to Elvhen like Solas. Felassan must have been trying to protect them.

Solas' heart ached, even as anger and hurt still scorched him. How could Felassan _not_ have trusted him?

"Felassan did not serve Dirthamen," Solas said, his voice sounding small, distant, and cold. "He may have learned the stealth spell from Mythal. That is more likely."

"But how and _why_ would he hide the truth of who he was from us? Eolas, Dirthamen's son." Zevanni's lips curled. "If that son of a bitch hid something as shocking as _that…"_

"I suspect he chose not to reveal that for fear it would shake our trust in him," Solas murmured. It was a simple enough extrapolation. Solas would have done the same in Felassan's place. Fen'Harel would never allow someone so closely tied to one of the seven Evanuris he most hated into his inner circle. But as just a harmless, unimportant descendant of Mythal's innumerable relations Felassan would be above scrutiny. Yet, to his children, Felassan had divulged his full heritage because he knew it could be used against them.

 _The other Dreamer I sensed in the Fade meeting with the Formless One,_ Solas realized, eyes widening, losing focus on Zevanni. _It was Felassan._

He felt the Fade tug at him again as Rosa tried to summon him and restrained a shudder.

"Well," Zevanni said with a grunt. "I'd say he was right." She blew out a breath, wrinkling her nose. Her eyes narrowed with concentration. "What are your orders, _hahren?_ Do you want me to press _Talassan_ for answers?"

"No," Solas answered with a sharp shake of his head. "Leave him with his new clan and return to Hasmal." He let out a short breath, shoulders sinking slightly. "We cannot let this change our plans or influence us unduly."

Zevanni cocked her head. "You won't recruit them?"

Solas frowned. "I killed their father," he told her blankly. "I doubt that knowledge will endear them to Fen'Harel."

Zevanni nodded, her eyes crinkling with something like sympathy. _"Fen'Harel enansal,"_ she said by way of formal farewell. "I will contact you when we are near Hasmal."

After bidding her goodbye, Solas let the Fade pull him into Rosa's dream and watched as the waterfall, aravels, and the river disappeared into mists. The ether warped and changed, transforming into a nighttime forest, damp and smelling of leaf litter. The forest was made up of a mixture of conifers and broadleaf trees, sighing and shifting in the wind. Solas peered up, through the leaves of the canopy to where the Black City floated high overhead, flickering orange lights in its windows. Rosa's grandfather and great-grandfather both were trapped up there, in paralyzing agony unending as the magic of Solas' trap drew magic from them and the five other Evanuris to power the Veil.

" _Aneth ara,_ flat-ear," Rosa's voice came from behind him. "It's about time you answered my call."

Solas turned to see her standing in tall summer grass beside pale stones that marked the edge of an ancient ruin that extended behind her, overgrown and crumbling. She smiled warmly at him, laying a palm over the white stone. "I was half-expecting to be dead today," she commented. "Or free. I'd prefer being free." Her violet eyes slid to him, still laden with affection. "And with you, of course."

Struggling to smile, Solas stared at her as his heart twisted inside his chest, each beat a small agony. _Tell her,_ a voice commanded him. _Tell her, coward. Deceiver._

Rosa's expression fell, twisting with concern. "What's wrong, Solas?"

Ignoring her question, Solas instead glanced to the ruins and motioned weakly with one hand. "What is this place?" He bit back the desire to call her _vhenan._ The bitter, self-loathing voice rose inside him again, admonishing: _You do not deserve her heart, trickster._

"Ruins my clan stayed at when I was a child," she answered with a dismissive shrug. Her smile became sad. "It was the closest I could be to Elvhenan, to the beauty you showed me last night."

Remembering her tale with the ravens that'd spoken to her, Solas seized the distraction and asked, "Is this where the ravens spoke to you in a dream?"

She frowned. "That story was a lie, remember?"

Solas smiled tightly. "I remember that I did not believe you fabricated it, merely altered it to suit your whims." He took a step closer, moving to inspect the nearest white block. "What did the ravens actually say to you?"

"Why are you asking about that now?" Rosa retorted, shaking her head. Her eyes had narrowed and her brow furrowed with something akin to suspicion.

 _Tell her the truth,_ the voice inside him raged as simultaneously selfish, weak thoughts raced through him: _I cannot tell her what I know, or who I am. I cannot bear to lose her._

Turning to face her, Solas saw the glint of her violet eyes, the near heart-shape of her lush lips. Now that he knew she was probably Felassan's daughter, he found himself picking out similarities. Her eyes were almost the same color as his, just a darker shade of violet. There was a likeness in their shape as well. And, though she was too young still to have permanent wrinkles, Solas could see she would one day have identical wrinkle lines in her forehead.

"What?" Rosa asked, an expression of alarm warping her features. "What's wrong?"

The words stayed caught in his throat, imbedded there like fishhooks. The truth was trapped just inside of him, out of reach. _Don't tell her now,_ he cautioned himself, excusing his weakness. They had to focus on escape. There'd be time for the truth if they survived.

"I am…still troubled by my friend's death," Solas admitted. It was true, after a fashion.

Her sympathetic look seemed to twist the blade in his heart, but— _fenedhis,_ damn him—he gladly accepted her into his arms as she moved to embrace him and offer comfort. Solas shuddered as he felt her warm lips brush softly on his neck and then over his jawline. _"Ir abelas,_ my love," she told him, the tenderness in her voice making his eyes sting.

 _She does not know she comforts you when she should scorn you,_ the taunting voice told him.

Grimacing, Solas pulled back from Rosa long before he was ready, tabling his emotions and schooling his features. "Thank you, but we have no time for my sentimentality." He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her head up to stare into her eyes as he said, "I fear the Templars will soon take further drastic action. Doubtless, they will work the Tranquil night and day in their census of the phylacteries."

They'd seen that much in the Knight-Captain's dreams the previous night. Unbeknownst to both he and Rosa, the Templars had a spare set of keys to access the phylacteries, meaning they'd set to work almost immediately on their census.

Rosa nodded, her eyes somber but her lips quirking up in a tight, coy smile. "Well, what do you say we look into that?"

Solas smiled at her. "What a curious coincidence. I was considering suggesting the very same thing."

She grinned and pressed forward to kiss him quickly. "Great minds think alike," she told him, smirking. "That's how you know we're meant to be together."

With an effort, Solas returned her smile and kept it from falling as she turned away to reshape the Fade and bring Brycen to them. _Meant to be together,_ he thought and felt the cold ache in his throat intensify. _Oh, vhenan…if only it were so simple._

* * *

When they had what they wanted from the Knight-Captain—learning that he expected the Tranquil to finish their count of the missing phylacteries by dinner the following day—Solas and Rosa parted ways for the night. Solas went to work over the minds of the mages and enchanters, to prime them for violence. Rosa, meanwhile, was to do the same with the Templar leadership.

They knew Brycen already planned to tackle the problem of identifying Kali's killer in a manner they could use to their advantage, though it'd be dangerous to say the least. Brycen intended to corral all of the mages whose phylacteries were missing into the assembly hall at the very base of the tower, the only space that was large enough to handle so many at once. Once there, he would tell the guilty party to come forward or he would begin executing the suspects a few at a time. Almost the entire population of Templars would be assembled for this fiasco, armed and armored to the teeth. If no one came forward or if the mages made one false move, Brycen would order the lot of them killed. Better to kill this group than punish the whole tower with the Rite of Annulment.

And it could all happen tomorrow night.

The thought of possible impending death in the coming frenzy made Rosa hurry through her task working with the Templar leadership and then, with what little time remained of the night, she decided she must say her goodbyes. Just in case. She shaped the same dream of the Brecilian Forest she'd shared with Solas earlier, a scene set deep in the darkness of night and at the edge of overgrown elven ruins. When the scene was set, Rosa conjured up the memory of a woman with dark brown hair, graying at the temples, and blue eyes— _Halesta,_ Keeper of clan Naseral.

Rosa's mother.

The Fade rippled and Rosa's skin prickled as she felt her mother's familiar presence and saw a shadow take shape in the grasses outside the ruin. The older woman was a weak Dreamer herself, able to consciously banish nightmares on occasion though that was about the full extent of her abilities. She had been around Rosa long enough that she recognized what had happened to her now, however, and turned in a slow circle, scanning her surroundings. When she saw Rosa standing amongst the pale stones of the ruin, Halesta froze.

"Rosa," she said, the single word sounding choked. "You're alive."

Rosa grinned, hard and dry with more than a touch of bitterness twisting inside her. "Why do you sound so surprised, _mamae?_ " Rosa brushed idly at the ruined pillar of white stone off to her right, picking at a dry stem of ivy coiling over it. "It takes more than wandering clanless for two years all over Thedas to kill me."

"Is Rogathe still within you?" Halesta asked, ignoring Rosa's comment.

"No," Rosa told her, still picking at the ivy. She swallowed, feeling her throat tighten as though invisible hands rose to choke her. Pretending not to watch her mother closely, she asked, "Would the clan take me back if I returned?"

"If Rogathe is no longer with you, _ma ashalan,_ then yes." Her face twisted with grief. "You know I didn't send you away lightly. I had no choice."

Rosa nodded to herself, resigned to that truth. The clan had been too few for it to be any other way. Rosa had left alone, banished, because no one could be spared to accompany her. And she could not stay within the clan while Rogathe possessed her for fear that the spirit would become a demon. Furthermore, she hadn't been very stable immediately after Rogathe joined with her. With the pendant Halesta made for her and enchanted using blood, Rosa had gradually achieved a better balance. Of course, that balance had been disrupted when she was abducted and tossed into the tower.

"I would have gone with you," Halesta told her, choking on the words. "But…"

"The clan needs its Keeper," Rosa said blankly. She turned away from the column to smile at the older woman. "Without you they are just wild elves, leaderless and without the wisdom of the ancients. The clan _is_ its Keeper." That had been the wisdom drilled into her and everyone else within the clan from a very young age. The entire clan's future depended on its Keeper. The First was expendable comparatively, though Rosa knew her banishment had been a terrible loss, almost as awful as the deaths they'd lost in the bandit attack.

Halesta nodded, her expression still aggrieved, though she wrung her hands now as she asked, "Did you meet your father at long last?"

Rosa shook her head, scowling bitterly. "No. I found someone else to help me."

Now Halesta cocked her head slightly, her lips turning up minutely. "A man? An elven man?" She had a sixth sense for such things, a truly annoying fact for Rosa when she'd been younger and trying to hide her love affair with one of the hunters.

Rosa grinned. "No, _mamae,_ a Templar."

Halesta scoffed. "Dread Wolf take me," she groused. "You're lucky I know you so well, _ma ashalan,_ or else you would kill me because that is _not_ funny."

Rosa laughed, feeling lighthearted and warm with affection. It blasted away the lingering resentment—irrational as Rosa knew it was—and she trotted forward through the dewy grass and flung her arms around her mother. Halesta responded in kind, laughing and crying simultaneously, holding her close and stroking her hair. "Oh _mamae,_ " she said, her voice hitching. "I missed you so much."

Her mother's arms around her were tight, her hands gentle though marked with familiar calluses. "You contact me so rarely," she said, a note of criticism and worry warping her voice. "I thought…I feared the worst."

Rosa knew that was a disguised request for her to summon Halesta more often. Even when Halesta banished Rosa, she'd told her daughter to contact her in the Fade whenever she needed guidance, encouragement, or just wanted someone to talk to. Neither of them had known if her father would be able to succeed in removing Rogathe, though they _had_ assumed he would actually show up to save his daughter's life. Rosa had spent much of that miserable winter on the Storm Coast reaching out to her mother and a few others of her clan for companionship. And Tal, of course.

Feeling her eyes stinging with emotion, Rosa broke their embrace and tried to keep herself from crying as she said, "I'll reach out to you as often as I can, _mamae._ But I've been very busy lately." She bit her lip, deciding not to waste time explaining her capture by Templars and her subsequent meeting with Solas. Her mother would probably be wary of another Elvhen man, considering her experiences with Eolas. So instead, Rosa said, "I'm in a very dangerous spot right now. I could die tomorrow—so if you don't hear from me, I wanted to tell you—"

Halesta made a shushing sound and placed her finger over Rosa's lips. Her eyes sparkled with tears in the light form the moonlight peeking through the canopy. "Please," she said, quaveringly, "don't say it and leave. Not yet, darling. I can't stand to leave on a sad note." She smiled, though her lips trembled and tears fell from her eyes. "I will always love you with all of my heart and I pray to the Creators every night for your health and safety. The clan remembers your courage and your sacrifice. We will honor you always in our memories, our songs, and our stories." She broke off, voice cracking. "Even if you never return to us."

"Oh _mamae,"_ Rosa said, swallowing hard to fight back the sobs that threatened to escape. She had rarely ever allowed herself to break down in front of others, even her mother. She nuzzled into her mother's hand as the older woman caressed her cheek and pulled her close to kiss her forehead with warm, dry lips. "I promise I'll fight as hard as I can," she said, forcing her voice to be strong. "But…the man I've met isn't Dalish. He won't want to settle with the clan and I…"

"Then follow your heart, _ma ashalan,_ " Halesta told her softly, still stroking her cheek. Her blue eyes flicked over Rosa's face, brow furrowing as her features darkened. "I should tell you…"

"What?" Rosa asked, alarmed at her mother's tone and her expression. "What is it?" Her mind leapt to the worst thing she could think of and she blurted: "Is Lihari all right?"

Halesta smiled slightly. "Lihari is healthy and growing fast. She takes to her studies as Second well enough, but I have not made her my First. Not yet." She apparently made little effort to contain her hope as she looked over Rosa, the emotion brightening her face and making Rosa's heart ache as it was torn in two directions.

"But that was not what I wished to tell you," Halesta admitted, sobering a moment later. She frowned, glancing over Rosa's shoulder toward the ruins, brilliant white in the moonlight. "A few nights back your father summoned me to his dream to warn me that you and Talassan were in danger."

At the mention of Eolas, Rosa scoffed derisively. "He has some nerve," she growled, withdrawing a step from her mother, hands clenching into fists. _"Fenedhis,_ Dread Wolf take him."

Halesta shook her head. "I had little patience for him, but he is one of the ancients and too powerful. I couldn't ignore him or push him away." She shrugged. "So I listened, though I do not understand what he said." Halesta frowned before continuing. "He wanted me to tell you he knew that Raselan—whoever that is—was after you, but he knew you were clever enough to handle it."

 _The Formless One._ Snorting disgustedly, Rosa curled her lip in a snarl. "As if he could have helped me. He wouldn't have, even if he could." She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not sure I want to hear anything more, _mamae._ I've decided I never want to speak with him again. Ever. He's hurt me too often."

Halesta's smile was sad, her eyes crinkling. "I cannot say I disagree with that decision, _ma ashalan,_ but it does not sound like you. The Rosa I know would never give up, even if she knew it would cause her pain to continue. My daughter isn't afraid of pain."

Rosa sighed, irritated at how accurate her mother was. Stubbornly, however, she refused to acknowledge it and remained silent.

A beat later Halesta said, "He was worried for you. He wanted me to summon you, but I cannot. I'm just not strong enough. He told me he would leave a message with Tal, but he wanted to speak to you as soon as possible." She pinched her lips together in a look of confusion. "He said you were someone's hostage?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Creators, he's as misleading and cagey as always. Are you sure he hadn't been confusing blood lotus with cattails again and wasn't just hallucinating?" Her father's incompetency with herbs was a well-known joke within her family and her clan.

Halesta ignored Rosa's comment, asking, "Does what he said mean anything to you?"

"Well," Rosa said with a flippant shrug. "I'm trapped in a Circle tower, so yeah." She sighed and scrubbed at her face. "I don't want to talk about _him_ , _mamae."_

Halesta's brow furrowed and her lips pinched into a hard line. "If you may die tomorrow, _ma ashalan,_ you should make peace with him. Whatever the reasons for his decisions, he loves you." Her eyes were soft and sad. "I believe he did not know how to be a father to you, but he wanted to see you happy and safe."

"He has a funny way of showing it," Rosa snarled, sneering down at the grass underfoot. But, yet again, she knew her mother was right. For all his faults and his abandonment, Eolas _had_ loved her and made an enormous effort to raise her, to teach her. It was only his mentoring that had allowed her to resist possession as her talents first manifested in childhood. Whatever other responsibilities he had that drew him away…it was still clear he cared. She had asked him what took him away so often, both from her dreams and from his visits to the clan, which occurred every two years or so, but Eolas always evaded answering. Just as he avoided discussing the fall of Elvhenan. Rosa had come to believe the two topics were inextricably linked as a result, though how and why and what it had to do with her father she couldn't even begin to guess.

"I know," Halesta agreed sadly. Her shoulders sagged as something like shame crossed her face. "You should know, Rosa, he did not know about you until you were almost four." She chuckled glumly, rubbing her sides with her arms as though cold. "He contacted me in dreams often his first two years away, but I never told him about you. I wasn't friendly with him. I never forgave him for leaving, but after four years away he came unannounced to the clan. One look at you, and he knew."

"I met him when I was four?" Rosa asked, surprised. She stared at her mother, taken aback. "But…babae was alive then." Keeper Taeras, the Keeper before Halesta, had been bonded to Rosa's mother before dying when she was five or six. Rosa had believed the old man was her father until she learned the truth at nine years old from two talking ravens in the Fade that her longtime mentor, clan Naseral's wandering Elvhen sleeper Ivun, known as Felassan by Tal's clan, was actually her sire.

Halesta's smile was closed lipped and melancholy as she said, "Taeras always knew he wasn't your father, darling. He _chose_ to be your babae and to bond with me to give us both a semblance of normalcy. We wanted you to know you belonged." Halesta gazed down on her fidgeting hands and Rosa knew that anxious motion was the same one she made when she was nervous too. "But Ivun wanted to tell you the truth. He wanted to teach you and hold you. Taeras and I…we refused."

Rosa stared at her mother, openmouthed with shock. All her life she had believed her father—who she called Eolas because she knew that, of all his names, it was that one he despised—had left the clan knowing Halesta carried his child. She'd believed he'd run away until she was six when he'd returned after Taeras' death to become her mentor, always lying to hide the shame of what he'd done.

"We didn't want to confuse you or hurt you," Halesta hurriedly explained her decision. "And Ivun agreed, eventually, but refused to leave you completely." She smiled, the vallaslin around her eyes and in her forehead warping. "So he left a friend to watch over you—Rogathe."

"Rogathe?" Rosa repeated, gawking. She shook her head, cold with shock. "Truly? _Mamae…"_

"And Rogathe saved you," Halesta went on, sniffing as she struggled with tears. "Saved all of us. But I had to banish you for it and—" She cut herself off, covering her mouth with one hand and breathing hard. "If I'd let Ivun tell you the truth after Taeras passed…" She let out a shuddering breath, eyes closing. "I let you resent him because I did. And it's not fair to you, _ma ashalan,_ or to him." She flicked at her cheeks, recomposing herself. "Please, go to him. If the worst should come to pass and you leave this world tomorrow…"

"All right," Rosa agreed, her words hollow with shock. "I'll seek him out." She swallowed, feeling the lump of emotion in her throat aching. "But don't blame yourself, _mamae._ He made his bed when he disappeared after the Arlathvhen and when he left me for dead on the Storm Coast." She gnashed her teeth together. "Nothing you did when I was barely more than a toddler is going to change that he's been a really shitty parent."

Halesta laughed. "I would be the first to agree, darling." Her blue eyes were dark and sad. "But I should have told you long ago. _Ir abelas._ "

The older woman moved to embrace her and Rosa returned it, clasping her arms tight around her mother and leaning her head into her neck. The Fade carried Halesta's familiar scent of roses, setting Rosa's mind spinning with memories of childhood nights spent cuddling with her mother in her aravel beneath animal pelts. Halesta kissed her again on the forehead, cupping her cheeks with both hands.

"Wherever you go, whatever you do, _ma ashalan,_ be safe," she murmured softly. "And know you have my love. If I do not see you again in this life I will seek you in the Beyond."

Rosa's throat burned and her chest ached as she nodded. "I will see you again, _mamae,_ I know it." It was bluster and bravery, things she'd picked up from Rogathe, but it helped ease the pain inside and let her smile though her chin trembled.

"Good," Halesta said and managed to laugh, kissing her forehead again. "Then I will eagerly await that moment."

They embraced again, shedding a few more tears and words of farewell, and then Rosa willed away the Brecilian Forest dream and stood in the raw Fade. An oily puddle lay at her feet, letting her toes sink deeper into it with a sensation of slime. Fade ether twined about the hollows and bumps of the plane around her, stretching out to the distance to obscure the unnatural horizon of the dream world. The Black City loomed overhead, orange lights twinkling in its ugly, blighted towers.

She sighed, trying to calm her emotions, and then imagined Eolas: his violet eyes like her own, his vallaslin the same as Tal's, his pale hair, quick dry humor, and his pleasant voice with its accent so like Solas'. " _Ghilin,"_ she named him, as she had as a child, referring to him as her mentor.

The Fade remained empty, though Rosa had a firm grip on it with her inner senses. It didn't ripple or twist at her command the way it should have. Rosa's mother had said Eolas—Ivun, Felassan, or whatever silly name he liked—was searching for her. He'd left a message with Tal, supposedly, but Rosa hadn't reached out for Tal in several days because Solas told her he was safe and settling in with a new clan. Receiving the message directly from the source made far more sense.

 _He must be awake already,_ she thought. The Fade would have reacted slightly if he were merely ignoring her.

Yet, for some reason, Rosa's stomach clenched with foreboding. She'd worried Eolas had died while on his way to the Storm Coast last winter and prayed to Dirthamen, Mythal, Elgar'nan, and to all the other Creators, pleading for a sign as to whether he lived or died and then she eventually began begging Falon'Din to guide his soul to the Beyond. Even though she knew her prayers went unheard even by false gods, it was comforting to have something greater than herself to reach out to in her desolation. But when he'd visited her dreams pleading forgiveness and not explaining why he had left her for dead, starving and cold and alone, she'd started wishing he _had_ died. That would have been less painful.

 _What if you never see or speak to him again?_ An annoying, niggling voice asked inside her. _What if the last words you spoke to him were uttered in anger?_

The memory of what she'd said made her wince, her words echoing through her mind in agonizing clarity: " _We don't need you. We never have,_ Eolas _."_ And worse, she recalled the grief and hurt and pain she'd seen in his face as she'd willed him away.

 _I'll make this right,_ she vowed to herself, hands curling into fists with determination. _I'll survive the battle tomorrow and find out why he never met me on the Storm Coast. There must be a good reason. And even if I don't find out what it was, I'll at least try to forgive him._

* * *

Elven Used:

Ma Ashalan: My daughter.

Ghilin: mentor

Halesta: feminine name meaning "thread of the fox."

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Enough!" Brycen roared over the clamor of the increasingly frantic mages. "Knight-Commander Kali's murder _will_ be avenged. Come forward." He scanned over the crowd, eyes narrowed and sharp with hate. "Come forward and face justice, _coward._ "

Rosa bristled at Solas' side, muttering. Of all the insults Brycen could hurl at them, that was the worst. Solas took her chin in his hands, turning her face to meet his so he could be certain she saw his warning look. _"Peace,_ vhenan," he said in elven, whispering. " _Please. For me_."

She nodded, though her eyes held shame and strain and her teeth were gritted together as she grimaced. _"We had no choice,"_ she said, letting out a long, wavering breath. _"We had to do it or they'd know."_ She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking. _"I have to do this so I can see my brother again, my mother—my father…"_

Solas winced at that last one, pain stabbing at his heart.

* * *

A/N: Oh, you know I'm just twisting the knife at this point and loving every minute of it in my sadistic way. So, now the secret's explicitly out! Rosa and _Talassan_ are Felassan's children. Another tidbit to notice is I revealed in the Rosa narration with her mother just what those talking ravens from the "Big Liar" chapters told her. I really, really, really want to write that as a scene and I actually might once I finish uploading this story. I might add in the raven story since I fleshed it out behind the scenes and it reveals how clever Rosa can be and why she was so adamant she could outsmart the Formless One...because she had done it before with the ravens.

Interestingly, another inspiration for this story was the name Talassan. Well, that and my love for Felassan. The name came up in a Dragon Age Random Name Generator I googled and when I saw it I thought "That's too similar to Felassan. Shame on you Random Name Generator." And then I also thought, wait...Felassan was out of uthenera at least 20 years and saved Briala when she was a teenager from bandits. And those two have this mentor-student relationship that is almost father-daughter, almost like he had experience with that sort of thing...And wham! Character idea was born.

On a serious note, however...let this story be a reminder to everyone not to make Rosa's mistake and let the last words with loved ones be in anger. Seriously, I didn't know those would be her last words to him when I wrote it, but when I realized...yeah, I cried a bit inside for her. It's a little tragedy. And I'm still freaking crying for Felassan! Dammit Solas!


	32. Two-Hundred Eighty-Nine Suspects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The [Templar] order is a place where ideals are set aside for the sake of necessity. There simply isn't room for compassion or mercy, and those who feel there should be….They find themselves on the outside, as an example to the others."—Ser Evangeline (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> And I heard from the East a great cry  
> As men who were beasts warred with their brothers,  
> Tooth and claw against blade and bow,  
> Until one could no longer be told from the other,  
> And cursed them and cursed their generations.
> 
> The Chant of Light—Portents of the Maker's Return
> 
> The Templars of Hasmal round up all their suspects for a final showdown.

Solas was in the midst of a long meditation session, stretching and expanding his mana core, when armored knuckles rapped on the thick wood of the door to his room. Blinking and tensing on his bed, Solas watched as Adwen leapt up from where he'd been sitting at the desk, reading a book, and sprang for the door.

It was close to dinnertime, though perhaps a bit early. Their meals had been more bread and water for both breakfast and lunch, and Adwen had been yammering on all day about how much he wanted more stew just to break the monotony. There was no reason to think this wouldn't be dinner, but Solas knew from both Fade walking and his own instinct that this wasn't the stew Adwen had been waiting for.

Breathing deep and even as he reached for his mana, preparing himself for whatever was coming, Solas scooted to the edge of his bed and placed his feet on the floor. Adwen opened the door, grinning with eagerness, only to scramble backward as two Templars brushed by him. "Master Revas," one man called and Solas immediately recognized his gruff, deep voice as Ser Jeremy.

The Templars moved to either side of him, glowering down at him. Solas arched both brows. "Yes?"

"You're coming with us," Jeremy growled.

"Resist and you'll be sorry," the man at his side snarled.

"I will come along peacefully," Solas told them as he stood. He braced himself for punishment despite his reassurance that he'd come without a struggle but still flinched anyway when Jeremy grabbed his right arm in a bone-crushing grip. The other Templar did the same with his left, hauling him toward the door.

"W-what's going on?" Adwen stammered, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. The Templars ignored him.

Solas gnashed his teeth as the two men drug him from the room and out into the hallway where he saw two other mages from his level, guarded by three other Templars. A Tranquil also stood by—the elven woman Devesa—holding a small clipboard.

"Your name is Revas?" she called, looking him in the eye as she awaited his reply.

"Yes," Solas told her with a slight nod. For good measure, he asked, "What is this about, may I ask?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that currently," Devesa answered as her quill scratched on the parchment. Solas guessed she was checking his name off from a list of suspects.

The door to Solas' room slammed shut, startling him with a little inhalation. He felt one of the Templars nudge him closer to the mages standing tensely in the center of the hall, looking pale and nervous. He recognized neither of the men. Both were human and around his visible age. The hall around them seemed too close, confined and airless and gloomy. The lack of light was a good thing, as it'd make Solas' stealth spell harder to detect visually, but in such a limited space he could never slip away without bumping someone. He hoped Rosa would come along with her own Templar escort without resistance.

"Who's next?" Jeremy asked, grunting.

"Master Roth," Devesa answered, staring at the clipboard. "Two rooms down."

Solas quashed the stab of guilt that lanced through him at that. He had liked Roth, the mage who'd suggested they should both teach a course devoted to magic for practical combat. Roth had fought in the Fifth Blight, making him a veteran worthy of Solas' respect. Though this modern world and its Grey Wardens were pathetic at combating Blight, it was still a noble struggle.

"Move," one of the Templars in the hall, a woman, urged him and the other mages forward. Solas marched the few dozen steps down to the door of Roth's room and watched as Jeremy and another Templar burst into it to seize Roth. The man was tense as he joined Solas and the other two mages, sneering at the Templars, but he did not fight as Francis had.

As they started moving down the hall again, Roth looked to Solas and asked under his breath, "What is this about?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Solas lied.

"The Tranquil said she's not allowed to talk about it," one of the other mages said.

Roth shook his head, cursing. "Andraste's ass. This stinks of Templar abuse to me."

"I would not struggle or speak out until we know more," Solas cautioned them in a low voice. "One of my roommates protested vehemently when our rooms were searched a few days ago and he was gravely injured."

"Is he still alive?" the mage who hadn't spoken yet asked, pallid and sweaty as he wrung his hands together.

"I do not know," Solas replied.

"Shut it, filth," a woman's voice snarled from behind them. Solas glanced back and vaguely recognized this Templar as the one who'd beaten him when she'd found him meeting in secret with Rosa in the library before his Harrowing. Her name floated to him from the depths of his memory: Ser Tess.

They picked up a fifth and sixth mage from the last room before the stairwell and then the Templars ordered them to march down the steps. Solas' heart had started pounding in earnest, crawling high into his throat. He ran a hand along the railing and the stone wall, feeling dust and grit under his fingers as he tried to remain calm and give away nothing damning. The air around him smelled faintly of sweat and held a charge like lightning. It was heavy with the tension of hostile magic just beneath the surface.

They passed the large double doors to the second level, currently closed. Solas didn't know if they were locked, but those were the doors he and Rosa needed to access once they escaped the assembly hall on the first floor. The orb had been stored there and he knew the key to the dangerous relics room was hidden under a tapestry depicting Andraste burning on her pyre. It seemed so long ago that he and Rosa had plotted out where it was—back when Solas had been too weak to find it himself.

_What if she lied?_ He wondered but dismissed that concern. Rosa trusted him, even though she really shouldn't. _She does not know who you are. She does not know that you killed her father and that you would destroy her whole world._

He shook those thoughts off as he, the other mages, and their Templar escort reached the first level landing. They marched through a dank, unadorned hall of gray stone, passing an equally gloomy and ugly entryway that had no door to close it off. Solas knew the dungeons lied down that way, taking up a huge section of the base of the tower. The first level had only dungeons and the assembly hall, with but a few other small rooms the Templars would use for recordkeeping when they brought in new uninitiated apprentices, some of whom never entered the tower but just died in the dungeons. Solas shuddered, knowing most people had expected him to be one of those unlucky souls.

Down another corridor, this one much prettier as it was lined with stained-glass windows and tapestries of Andraste, her disciples, or various famous Divines, brought them to the first set of double doors for the assembly hall. Far down the hall Solas could see another set of doors, guarded by two Templars in full armor. Tess prodded him from behind impatiently, pushing him inside the assembly hall before he could see anything else.

The assembly hall itself had a high ceiling that likely rose into the second level and it was the only spot in the tower that Solas had seen break with the constant gray stone and wood used everywhere else. Here plaster had been layered over wood or stone to paint murals with Chantry imagery. He saw depictions of the Maker, Andraste, and the Seven Magisters who'd brought on the Blight. Along one half of the enormous space he saw fanciful, stylized imagery of the Chantry's take on creation, from the Maker's formation of the Fade, the Golden City, and spirits, to His disillusionment and resulting creation of mankind and the physical world. Solas guessed the assembly room had been designed for massive Chantry services to be performed as needed by either mages or Templars. The far wall seemed to have several large doors that currently stood closed, but Solas suspected they were storage areas where massive wooden pews might be placed when not in use.

Braziers lit the room in the corners and candles hung on chains from the ceiling. A faint scent of incense hung in the air, spicy and fragrant. Oddly, it made Solas sweat more and he fidgeted as he walked over the huge red carpet covering the hard, white stone and plaster floor. His group of six mages joined a larger group in the center of the assembly hall, milling about and watching the doors nervously. The hall echoed with the sound of their feet brushing the carpet and their voices murmuring quietly as they formed cliques and huddled together.

It appeared that the Templars had been working their way up the tower from room to room as Solas saw a proliferation of youthful, frightened faces. He hoped he and Rosa had not inadvertently condemned a host of apprentices from the phylacteries. Their wanton destruction, done in haste, hadn't been performed with any precision. Chances were high more than a few of the phylacteries they'd destroyed were from mages who'd been made Tranquil and would therefore be ruled out as suspects immediately.

Yet Solas _had_ deliberately targeted several senior enchanters, but they were not present yet. It made sense, in a way, for the Templars to leave the apprentices and lesser mages standing about longer than the more powerful and renowned enchanters. They likely suspected enchanters had killed the Knight-Commander; so ensuring their prime suspects had little time to converse before the Templars made their move was the wisest way to handle this situation.

After walking through the crowd of about a hundred apprentices and mages, Solas found Rosa standing near the back, beside a brazier. Templars lined the nearby doors to the storage rooms opposite the entryway, and Solas eyed them warily as he moved to take his place at Rosa's side. "Are you cold, _vhenan?"_ he asked her, his voice lighthearted though strained.

"No," she murmured. "I just like having an obstacle nearby that I can put between me and others." She jerked her chin toward the Templars standing beside the storage room doors. "Like those assholes."

"We may be waiting here for some time," Solas murmured, gazing at the crowd of anxious, tense mages and apprentices. More groups of mages appeared through the doors as he watched, in groups of about six at a time and with an escort of no less than five Templars each. He recognized Yvette, the mage who taught the course where he'd dueled with Tal. Resisting the desire to cringe, he sighed instead, staring at the fire in the brazier.

"Do you think we could slip away now?" Rosa asked quietly, finding the door and eyeballing it, gauging the distance no doubt.

"The hallways will be crowded with Templars escorting mages," Solas reminded her. "If we are detected…" He didn't have to finish that sentence.

"We could be just as easily detected trying to sneak out of here during the shit show,"' she pointed out, muttering. Her gaze swept over the mages and apprentices, twisting as if with pain. "I wish there was another way…"

"As do I," Solas agreed in a whisper.

"I wish we could stay and fight," she murmured, shooting him a tight look, almost excited. "Take these bastards down and save them."

Solas frowned, though he knew his regret showed through, brow furrowing at the painful stab of shame that he must encourage her to be selfish. "We cannot afford to take such risks, _vhenan."_

Rosa's violet eyes closed and her shoulders slumped. "I know. I just…"

Taking her hand and squeezing, Solas offered her a wan smile. "The Circles were destined to fall to violent rebellion regardless of what we did," he told her softly. "Deaths are inevitable and sometimes necessary to bring about important change."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "That sounds like something the apostate who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry would say."

Solas allowed himself a coy smile. "I _may_ have a certain fondness for rebellion," he admitted, letting his voice take on a flirtatious tone. Now his heart hammered with more than just ongoing tension and stress from their current situation. Discussing rebellion was a dangerous topic, particularly with one as clever and knowledgeable as Rosa. But he seemed to be courting danger these days…literally.

"Is that why you like me, flat-ear?" she asked, smirking.

"You are hardly rebellious under most circumstances," Solas told her, teasingly. At her look of mock-insult, Solas elaborated. "You were First to your clan. By its very definition, that means you followed your Keeper's instruction and rules constantly to please her. That is decidedly the opposite of rebellion."

She snorted, releasing his hand and edging closer to him—far too close for anyone watching to have any doubts as to the nature of their relationship. Her breath puffed over his lips and cheeks as she whispered in a sultry tone. "Didn't I also tell you about how _naughty_ I was on the sly? I had a lover, older and wiser than me, and we were always afraid of being caught, but it didn't stop me. Or him, though I was the one who chased _him."_

Solas shifted his weight from one foot to another, feeling the heat of the brazier far too intensely now. "This tale is beginning to sound alarmingly familiar, _vhenan,_ " he murmured under his breath. "I believe you may be embellishing, however. Particularly regarding—"

"Hey!" came a growling roar from behind Solas, in the direction of the closed doors he suspected were for storage. Turning to look, Solas saw a Templar glaring at them, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "No fraternization!"

"Dread Wolf take you," Rosa snarled under her breath as she took a firm step away from Solas. For once, Solas rather agreed with her curse using his Evanuris name. They were close enough to touch still, but the delicious thrill of her nearness had faded.

Glancing at the doors to the assembly hall, Solas saw the latest incoming group was made up of enchanters and felt his stomach tighten and go cold with dread and anticipation. "It will be soon now," he remarked.

Rosa followed his gaze and nodded somberly. Whispering, she said again, "We could try to slip out now…"

"The fewer Templars there are in the halls, the better our chances," Solas told her, though he did consider the option. The longer they were here the emptier the tower would be of opposition, allowing them easier mobility outside the assembly hall as they made their move for the orb. Yet, the longer they remained here, the harder it would be to escape. Once Brycen's intentions became clear to the mages here, panic and chaos would probably ensue. The mages in the hall were already twitchy, tense and ready for a fight. They knew instinctively that their lives were on the line and they were ready to face their foes.

The tower, and the assembly hall in particular, had become a tinderbox with the spark poised to strike.

"What's our strategy?" Rosa asked him, scanning the room.

Solas took in the positions of the Templars and huffed unhappily. "I suspect the Templars will move in to surround the group."

"Like they did for my trial by combat," Rosa reminded him, apparently seeing the same thing.

Solas nodded, keeping his voice low as he continued: "When the hall dissolves into violence—as it most certainly will—the most advantageous spot will be near the edge of the mages, closest to one of the doors. We slip through the ranks and out the door."

She let out a long, tense breath. "So much easier said than done." Her violet eyes darted about the assembly hall, counting the Templars. "There must be fifty of them in here and they're not even finished piling in. This place will be packed."

"Fade stone seems to knock them over easily enough," Solas remarked, smiling affectionately at her.

She grinned back at him. "Yes," she chuckled. "Yes, it does."

About two hundred mages were gathered in the center of the hall now, huddled in small groups. At the door, Solas saw five Templars arrive escorting only one person—a woman who he recognized as Elyssa, a senior enchanter. If they were bringing in senior enchanters now time had grown short.

Nudging Rosa, Solas indicated the door with a slight motion of one hand. "We should make our way to the edge of the group there, closest to the door. Do you agree?"

She flashed him a smirking smile, tense and closed-lipped. "Solas, you're the veteran of Elvhenan," she said, whispering. "If you think that's where we should be, I'm going to defer to your ridiculously superior experience."

Solas stared at her a moment before chuckling dryly. "Do not be so quick to credit me so highly, _vhenan,_ " he told her, though he grinned. "I have made some _profoundly_ foolish mistakes in my long life."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice strained but still flirty. "You should tell me about them some time. Like, when we're out of here and making love beneath the stars."

Solas bit back his tight laughter as he snatched her hand in his, squeezing again. "Perhaps I will," he hedged. "Though I rather believe we will both be too distracted to share stories in the position you described."

Rosa grinned and made a humming noise in her throat, as if enjoying an especially sumptuous meal. "Mmm, you said _position."_

Solas shook his head, chuckling again despite the coiling anxiety in his gut, twisting almost to the point of pain. They hovered so close to disaster and yet they could not keep themselves from flirting. He wanted to admonish her but knew he should be reprimanding himself just as much. Aside from the impending danger facing them that should be deadening their libidos, he also carried far too many damning secrets that should make her loathe him rather than love him. But it _was_ such a stress relief to have her at his side.

And so it was he couldn't stop himself from wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her tight to him, even as he felt the scathing, disapproving stares of the Templars watching from the adjacent wall. Nuzzling her ear, he quickly said, "If I have my way it will be _positions_ , _vhenan."_

She snickered as he swiftly pulled away, tugging her hand as he led her around the circle of mages gathered in the center of the room. Templars had already taken up posts at the front of the room, along the wall adjoining the entryway, regularly spaced from each other and glaring as one at the mages from the slits in their helmets. Solas estimated there were indeed upwards of fifty of them now, lining the walls and doors and even patrolling lengthways along the front of the hall.

When he and Rosa had reached the edge of the group close to the entryway everyone had been escorted through, Solas saw additional Templars in the corridor outside, standing guard. His chest tightened and his stomach sank at the sight. If those Templars didn't enter the assembly hall when chaos erupted they could very well sense Rosa and Solas as they passed by, even invisible, and lash out. A blast from their magic suppressing power would break Solas' grip on the stealth spell. The confrontation with Knight-Commander Kali had revealed that clearly enough—though, somewhat embarrassingly, it hadn't done the same to Rosa. Whether that was because she had a stronger stealth spell, passed on from her father and Dirthamen rather than through whatever version Mythal learned, or because Solas was simply too weak currently or Kali's spell purge hadn't hit Rosa as directly, Solas would never know.

"Rosa," a female voice called from nearby. Both Solas and Rosa turned to watch as Autumn approached them, sidestepping through the crowd.

"Autumn," Rosa greeted her roommate and Solas didn't miss the slight waver in her voice—guilt. Her smile was tight and she didn't release Solas' hand as the other mage joined them.

"Can you believe this?" Autumn asked, casting a nervous look about the room, her brown eyes landing on the Templars, flicking between them. "Do you have any idea what's going on? An enchanter told me he thinks this is the start of the Rite of Annulment and we're going to have to fight for our lives." She wrung her hands together, her skin blanched with fear. "Do you think that could be true?"

"Knowing these bastards it could be anything," Rosa grumbled. Her hand tightened on Solas.

Autumn's gaze roved over them and she smiled slyly, though her body language was still just a few levels short of terror. "At least you get to be with your lover, eh?" she asked.

Solas shot the other mage a dry look but said nothing to protest her assessment. Autumn had been kind enough to give them "alone time," after Tal had been sent away to Ansburg. She had a kindly demeanor with doe-like eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Solas half-expected she'd be elf-blooded with those eyes.

"Oh," Rosa said, sounding sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Autumn. Damien's not here, is he?"

"If we're about to die," Autumn said with a tight half-shrug. "I suppose it's a good thing, maybe?" She wrung her hands together, swaying with obvious unease.

"If they attack us," Rosa said, quiet but firm. "Fight as hard as you can and just run. We're on the ground level and we outnumber them." She drew in a deep breath, shoulders rising. "We can do this."

"Perhaps it will not come to that," Solas said, trying to interject some hope, however false he knew it would prove to be. "The Templars may only wish to make an announcement or—"

From the entryway came the loud clap of armored boots on the stone as at least a dozen more Templars entered the room. Solas, Rosa, and Autumn stared, along with the other assembled apprentices, mages, and enchanters, as Brycen stormed in, wearing a scowl. Ser Bartholomew flanked him, alongside Ser Tess. The assembly hall quieted until the clank of Templar armor was the primary sound filling the space, echoing from the plaster walls.

Brycen strode to a spot halfway between the two sets of entry doors, though only one was open and being used, and faced the assembled mages. His armor glinted in the light from the braziers and candles overhead as he squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back. "Mages," he shouted to them, his voice loud and powerful. "No doubt you have all been wondering why we have gathered you here."

The mages broke out in a rash of hushed whispers. Beside Rosa, Solas heard Autumn mutter, "No shit," under her breath.

"Allow me to explain," Brycen went on, his gaze sweeping over the mages and narrowing. "Three days ago, in the depth of the night, Knight-Commander Kali was murdered and her keys to the phylactery storage room were stolen."

Now the mages gasped as one and Solas did his best to appear equally stunned, lips parting and eyes widening. Rosa shot him an anxious look before the expression vanished and became one of surprise as she and Autumn reacted together. Solas rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of sweat collecting in the groove where his spine ran down his back and in his armpits. He surveyed the Templars stationed about the room as covertly as possible as Brycen went on.

"In the wake of Kali Romain's tragic murder, I have been promoted to Knight-Commander," Brycen revealed, eliciting more shocked gasps and murmurs from the mages. "My first act as Knight-Commander has been to investigate her death and the subsequent breach to the phylactery storage room." Lifting one arm, Brycen swept it over the room, indicating the assembled mass of mages. "You have all been brought here because, after completing a thorough census of the phylacteries, we have determined that the individual or individuals responsible for this atrocity destroyed your phylactery. They did this to mask their crime in the hope that we would be unable to find the guilty party with so many in this tower implicated."

Whispering and murmuring had grown enough that Brycen had to raise his volume near the end of this part of his speech. Solas saw the Templars scattered about the room shift their positions, readying themselves for battle. Armored hands flew to the hilts of swords and, from the mages, Solas felt the charge of mana making his skin bristle with something that was neither pain nor pleasure. The fine hairs all over his body stood on end. Rosa's hand was sweaty in his own, her jaw clenched and her face set with a look of ferocity and determination. Autumn, comparatively, had covered her mouth with both hands in ongoing shock.

"Now you understand the reason you have been confined to quarters with such limited food the last three days," Brycen went on, shouting now to be heard. "We cannot allow this crime to go unpunished and we know the guilty party is among you at this very moment." Spreading his hands, as if to embrace the mages, Brycen said, "You should know, the Rite of Annulment has been decreed for lesser crimes than this,"

A mage from somewhere in the center of the group shouted angrily: "Nugshit!"

Brycen ignored the man's interruption, though Ser Tess and a number of the other Templars glared daggers through the slits on their helmets.

"The Rite of Annulment was considered an option here," Brycen revealed, provoking even more nervous whispers and a mass fidgeting through the crowd of mages. "However, in these times of strife, and with First Enchanter Braden absent for the conclave at the White Spire, I have decided enacting the Rite would only worsen matters. I seek only to punish the guilty party among you."

"You cannot kill us!" a woman shouted. Her voice was young—an apprentice, Solas guessed. Her fear had gotten the better of her.

"And I will not," Brycen shouted quickly over the increasingly agitated crowd. He lifted one hand, his finger raised. "But I must have justice for Kali Romain." He glowered at the crowd. "Give yourself up," he yelled, his voice rumbling, echoing through the assembly hall. "And no harm will come to any other assembled here." He thrust out his chin; jaw squaring. "Come forward or I will be forced to begin executions."

Now the mages erupted in shouts of protest. The crowd jostled one another and Solas felt the charge in the air intensify. Someone bumped into him from behind, making him edge out of the group slightly, closer to the nearest Templar standing watch by the double doors of the entrance. Rosa cursed under her breath, her sweaty hand clutching his tightly. Autumn was shaking, muttering incomprehensibly, stricken with fear.

"Take me," called out a thin, reedy male voice. Solas craned his neck to see Parahel, the elven enchanter and the instructor who'd first assessed his penmanship, shuffle his way through the crowd. Mages parted to let him through, gawking and eyes wide, faces blanched or mottled red with rage. Yet the group settled slightly, staring on in trepidation and horror and confusion. Regardless of whether Parahel was guilty or not, the mages collectively seemed to hold their breath and simultaneously sigh with relief. If the Templars needed a scapegoat…they had him. The rest of the group would be safe.

" _Him?"_ Autumn said, her mouth hanging open. "I don't believe it."

Solas knew the Templars wouldn't either. He and Rosa remained taut as bowstrings.

As Parahel stepped free of the crowd, the old man gazed unflinchingly at Brycen and his Templars, unafraid and proud despite his stooped posture, bent by age. "I am the guilty party," he said. "Let my life be the only one taken this day."

Brycen frowned and said, "You truly and freely admit to killing Knight-Commander Kali Romain three nights ago?"

"Yes," Parahel said, his voice breathy but firm.

Brycen's eyes narrowed. "And do you also confess to destroying two-hundred eighty nine phylacteries on that same night?"

"Yes," Parahel replied. Mages in the crowd muttered behind him, the unrest building. Most of them probably doubted Parahel and knew he was going to sacrifice himself rather than risk letting the group die. The nobleness of the sacrifice made Solas shiver with awe and respect, but he also thought it foolish and futile. This ruse wouldn't work and, worse, the Templars might kill him for trying it. This entire fiasco was doomed to end a violent failure.

"If you truly committed this crime," Brycen said then, quieter now, "you will be able to lead me to Knight-Commander Kali's missing set of keys to the phylactery room. Tell me, Parahel, where did you hide them?"

Now the elven man stared helplessly at Brycen, shoulders slumping. He remained silent and the assembly hall went motionless and as near to soundless as possible as they waited. Finally, Brycen repeated himself, shouting: "Tell me where the Knight-Commander's missing keys are hidden, old man!"

Parahel turned his gaze to the floor, hunching forward into himself and grimacing as if with pain. The silence dragged on until Brycen snarled, "You did not kill her. You did not destroy the phylacteries. You are not the one I want. Get out of my sight." He waved one hand at Parahel, sneering as he dismissed him, walking around the old man to address the rest of the mages. "I will not accept false confessions. This is not a witch-hunt; this is a quest for justice. I _will_ have the murderer or I will begin executions."

"And what if the killer didn't destroy his own phylactery?" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Yeah," another agreed. "What if this is all a setup?"

"You cannot do this," someone else shrieked. "Templar bastards!"

At Solas' side, Rosa edged closer to him, trapping their clasped hands between their bodies. _"It's coming,"_ she whispered in elven.

Solas nodded. "Yes." Licking his lips, he eyed the nearest Templar and the guards beyond him, guessing that he could reach the doors in about ten seconds of sprinting. So much could happen in those precious seconds…

"Once they start killing people they'll never know if they have the real murderer," Autumn said, shaking her head. Tears glittered in her eyes. She looked to Rosa and Solas, desperate to share the thought with someone. "Do you know what I mean? What if the killer never comes forward and never confesses? The Templars will just kill all of us then…" She choked, tears gliding down her cheeks.

"Be strong," Rosa told her, squeezing her bicep with her free hand, the one not clutching Solas'. "Remember what I said? If they start killing us—make them pay for it and _run._ Get out."

"Rosa is right," Solas encouraged her in a gruff voice. "The only way we will escape here is by fighting our way out."

"Enough!" Brycen roared over the clamor of the increasingly frantic mages. "Knight-Commander Kali's murder _will_ be avenged. Come forward." He scanned over the crowd, eyes narrowed and sharp with hate. "Come forward and face justice, _coward._ "

Rosa bristled at Solas' side, muttering. Of all the insults Brycen could hurl at them, that was the worst. Solas took her chin in his hands, turning her face to meet his so he could be certain she saw his warning look. _"Peace,_ vhenan," he said in elven, whispering. " _Please. For me_."

She nodded, though her eyes held shame and strain and her teeth were gritted together as she grimaced. _"We had no choice,"_ she said, letting out a long, wavering breath. _"We had to do it or they'd know."_ She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking. _"I have to do this so I can see my brother again, my mother—my father…"_

Solas winced at that last one, pain stabbing at his heart.

"Very well," Brycen's voice boomed out. He motioned to Ser Tess and Ser Bartholomew to his right and left. "Select two from among the mages and the enchanters and bring them forward."

The mages erupted in shouts of protest and cries of alarm. The air crackled, alive with the threat of magic as fear and rage began to outweigh shock and caution. Brycen shouted over them, raising both hands in a gesture calling for silence and calm. "Silence! Andraste guide us, we _will_ find the killer and we _will_ spare the rest of you. But if you fight us, I will order the lot of you slaughtered! Do _not_ force my hand."

Solas watched as Bartholomew walked slowly round the crowd, his eyes roving over them, searching as he drew closer to their corner. Solas' heart pounded, frantic and cold with dread. This was the danger of being on the outside of the group. Rosa was at his side, her eyes still screwed tightly shut as she shook, breathing hard and murmuring in elven. Nudging her, Solas said, " _Vhenan,_ please…"

And then Bartholomew stopped, his eyes landing on Solas. Through the slits on his helmet, Solas saw the Templar's eyes bunch up as he grinned, hard and pitiless. His teeth flashed, as bright as Brycen's silverite armor and Solas had to swallow bile as the certainty swept over him that Rosa had been right all along. They should have fled before the start of this disaster. He knew he must be blanching and ashen with horror as he stared back at the Templar, certain the man would pick him—but then, Bartholomew's gaze slid to Rosa instead.

_No…_

Bartholomew sprang forward and snatched Rosa's bicep, dragging her forward. Solas clung to her; teeth clenched and rage boiling his blood even as panic made his limbs weak and shaky. Two other Templars hurried forward. One grabbed Solas' shoulders while the other cuffed the back of his head, making the room spin and his blood hiss in his ears. Solas' grip on Rosa failed as they pushed him to the floor. "No," he shouted, shaking his head and straining to watch. "No—I beg you!"

Rosa tensed and struggled, twisting and snarling like an animal. "Let go of me, Templar bastard!" She kicked and thrashed, revealing bare feet beneath her robes.

Bartholomew snatched the topknot of braids on her head, jerking her backward and snatching her throat with his other hand as he hauled her away from Solas. Autumn gasped, useless and gawking at Solas' side as they watched, impotent, as Bartholomew dragged Rosa toward Brycen and her imminent death.

* * *

Rosa's head spun as Ser Bartholomew's cold, armored hand crushed her airway. Panic made everything blurry and time slowed to a crawl. She saw Solas' horror and rage and desperation as two Templars forced him onto his hands and knees. She saw her roommate flinching from Solas and the Templars even as she stared after Rosa with pity and shock. _Fight,_ Rosa railed at the other woman—and then at herself.

Digging her feet into the red rug beneath her, Rosa strained against Bartholomew's grip and curled her body up to kick at his knees, thighs, and stomach. Her head felt as though someone had pumped it full of water, pressurized and thick from lack of air. Dimly, she heard herself making sickening noises, wet gasps as she tried to breathe. None of her kicks made much of an impact as Bartholomew dragged her to a spot beside Brycen and pushed her down as if in supplication for the former Knight-Captain.

But his hand finally left her throat. She sucked greedily on the air, shoulders and chest heaving. The mages shouted in disapproval, agitated and at the brink of losing control. Solas had said he doubted they would start to fight until after the first executions. That might still be the case, but it wouldn't help Rosa.

Panting, she saw Ser Tess had pulled senior enchanter Elyssa from the group. The human mage had been forced onto her hands and knees off to Brycen's left, mirroring Rosa's position. Tess held a blade to Elyssa's throat, forcing the enchanter to be still though she snarled at Brycen. Rosa realized the cold sensation at her throat must be Bartholomew holding a blade to her as well, though in her frenzy to breathe she'd been too distracted to notice.

If looks could kill, Brycen would have burst into flames as Elyssa spat, "You son of a bitch. Maker curse you! This is not justice!"

"As you're so talkative, enchanter, we shall start with you," Brycen said, returning her snarl with one of his own. "Since you are about to die, now would be a good time to confess to the murder of Kali Romain and, in so doing, spare your fellow mages."

"Fuck you," Elyssa snarled. "This isn't justice," she repeated, straining against Tess' blade. "You _want_ to spill our blood, you monster!"

"Do you plead innocent or guilty?" Brycen repeated, shouting as he bent down to get into her personal space. Spittle flew onto Elyssa's face, making her flinch.

"Innocent of the crime you accuse me of," Elyssa yelled. "But guilty of the so-called crime of being born with magic!"

Tess gave her a little shake. "Shut it, filth."

Brycen stood back up as the assembled mages booed and jeered. The air crackled with mana and Rosa shivered at the press of its power, even as she felt Bartholomew's suppressive powers counteracting it. Soon. It had to be soon.

But not soon enough.

She watched, teeth bared, as Brycen pivoted and stooped to be closer to her for questioning. His lips curled in a cruel smile as recognition lit his eyes. "Rosa." He said her name in a way that made her skin crawl with revulsion. His words were quiet, meant for her alone and not the crowd. "How fitting you are here. You remember our agreement before?" He snatched her chin, pinching. "Never lie to me."

Her mind raced. Did he know somehow?

Releasing her, Brycen raised his voice to begin the same questioning just as he had with Elyssa. "Do you confess to the murder of Knight Commander Kali Romain? Will you spare your fellow mages? How do you plead, innocent or guilty?"

Rosa glared at him, her fingers clawing at the rug under her hands as she reached within herself and found mana bubbling, frothing and ready to do her bidding. Her heart thundered in her ears, but she could feel Rogathe pressing against the Veil, so close she could almost touch it. Somewhere, deep inside her, the spirit had left its mark like engraving on stone. She found that spot and clung to it, letting fearlessness and rage consume her.

Grinning with all the ferocity brimming inside, Rosa growled, "Neither. I choose trial by combat." Confusion twisted Brycen's face for a split second before Rosa lifted one hand, clenched it into a fist, and pounded it into the rug—casting a powerful Veilstrike with a sharp whine.

Bartholomew yelped as the spell slammed him into the ground. The blade he'd held to her throat slashed at Rosa's sleeves on the way down, but missed her skin. Brycen fell to his knees in a clatter of armor and a strained cry.

Elyssa shrieked in something like triumph as Tess stumbled with the Veilstrike as well and the senior enchanter Fade stepped out of Tess' reach and straight for Brycen. Lightning crackled, bouncing between the three downed Templars, making them thrash and twitch.

Snatching Ser Bartholomew's knife, Rosa twisted round to where the redheaded Templar had started to recover, rising from her Veilstrike and Elyssa's lightning. She snatched off his helmet and plunged the blade into his neck. Blood sprayed, splattering her, and he gurgled. One less Templar to fight.

Distantly, she heard shouting as Templars rushed to fight and defend Brycen, who'd managed to let loose a wave of his magic suppressing power. Rosa merely gnashed her teeth as it rolled over her, annoying but harmless because she hadn't been actively using magic. She saw the crowd of mages had erupted into violence. Flames guttered and lightning crackled. The air grew sharply cold as someone cast a blizzard, but Rosa merely tossed up a barrier to shield herself from its effects. The Templars who'd swarmed in to rescue Brycen had to contend with dozens of angry mages.

Heart pounding, Rosa saw two Templars racing for her, swords drawn and gleaming blue with their power. Behind her she heard Elyssa fighting Brycen one on one. The other woman could use the backup, but…

_I have to see Tal again. I have to live for mamae. I have to speak with my father and make peace with him. I have to help Solas._ Gritting her teeth, Rosa Fade stepped forward and through the two Templars, freezing them as she passed to slow them, but she couldn't stay to fight.

Popping out of the Fade-step, she found chaos. Templars clashed with mages, blocking them from the door. There were five of them, more than enough to block it. About ten mages faced off with them, and more were swarming in, panicked and trying to flee. Autumn was among them, hanging back enough that she wasn't in the fray, but close enough that she was clearly trying to escape. Deeper into the assembly hall the rest of the mages fought frantically against the Templars that'd surged forward from their positions lining the walls. There were enough Templars that, with the majority of the mages being inexperienced in battle, they might just lose despite outnumbering their foes something like five to one.

A loud _whump_ from her left made her jump, but she grinned with joy as she saw the source was Solas, using a powerful mindblast to knock a Templar back and away. As the man stumbled and fell onto his ass, Solas flung Fade stone at him; aiming for his head and hitting it square on. The Templar went limp and did not rise again.

Solas' blue eyes were wide and his skin pallid. He had been speckled with blood that might actually be his own from a wound on his scalp. _"Vhenan,"_ he said, rushing to her. She could see his relief, palpable in its strength, but she felt it as he embraced her in a quick but crushing hug. Though shouts and screams and the sound of magic and blades rent the air, for a moment the only thing Rosa heard was the rasp of his breathing against her ear and her own hammering pulse.

And then it was over as they drew apart, clasping hands, and ran to join the ten or so mages facing off with the five Templars guarding the door.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"Filthy savage," he snarled, eyes flicking warily between the two elves and then the burning tapestry.

"And trickster," Rosa added. "Don't forget that." Jerking on the tapestry as the flames spread wildly over it, throwing intense heat on her back and arms and one side of her face as it flew free from the wall with a roar of fire. She spun, flinging the burning tapestry at Jeremy. He raised his shield and shouted curses, scrambling to avoid the fiery blanket. The tapestry landed over the long table and the chair, catching the wood afire with a flash of light and an energetic crackling as the fire took this new kindling eagerly.

* * *

A/N: 

Hopefully I actually surprised a few of you with my big secret about Felassan being their father. There were actually dozens and dozens of hints I scattered throughout, from Rosa's violet eyes to that short staff Zevanni let Tal borrow a few chapters back, to the itchweed jokes and the lack of Dread wolf knowledge the siblings seem to have. Some of this is very easy to miss, and that was my intent, because not many have read _The Masked Empire._


	33. Fire and Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, you've got a good point. Fire and swords are dull. But what if something bigger was coming?"—Felassan (The Masked Empire)
> 
> And those who slept, the ancient ones, awoke,  
> For their dreams had been devoured  
> By a demon that prowled the Fade  
> As a wolf hunts a herd of deer.  
> Taking first the weakest and frailest of hopes,  
> And when there was nothing left,  
> Destroying the bright and bold  
> By subtlety and ambush and cruel arts.
> 
> The Chant of Light—Portents of the Maker's Return  
> (Dammit, Solas, is this about you?)
> 
> As rebellion ensues and chaos erupts between mages and templars, Solas and Rosa make a desperate play for the orb. But will they both make it out alive?

Ten mages faced off with five Templars at the door, but not all of the mages were fighting. Several, like Autumn, merely lingered, terrified to the point of witlessness. Rosa moved with Solas to join those who were fighting, tossing barriers over themselves and hurling Fade rock at the nearest Templar. Both green stones impacted the man's shield with a crisp clatter and sent him staggering sideways into one of his compatriots.

Solas cast immolate beneath the unstable Templars, igniting them in a spray of orange and yellow flames. Rosa added a Veilstrike with a downward punch of one fist. Four of the Templars fell flat on their faces, but the fifth managed to withstand it and sent out a ringing burst of magic-suppression in a wave of blue. The energy broke over Rosa's barrier, weakening it, but Solas' burst entirely. Some of the other mages fighting beside them gasped and grimaced with pain as the magic suppression sapped their mana and disrupted their spells.

From behind them, in the center of the room, an animalistic screech tore the air. A chill raced up Rosa's spine and she twisted to look for the source of the sound. A blast of light tore through the assembly hall as both mages and Templars shouted, scrambling to flee from whatever was happening in that spot. Rosa felt the Veil twisting, stretching and flexing. Her skin prickled painfully and she felt abruptly nauseous.

"Abomination!" someone screamed. "Abomination!"

On the other side of the Veil, Rosa felt Rogathe pressing against her, frantic to be with her to protect her. As if Solas sensed it too—and likely he had—he squeezed her hand, tugging her focus back to the fight at the door. "We must hurry!"

With the distraction of the abomination from the middle of the room, the four downed Templars had managed to recover and stand. Solas, Rosa, and the other more aggressive mages fighting here erected barriers over themselves and lashed out with renewed effort. But Autumn, stunned and terrified by the abomination, kept staring backwards over her shoulder. When one Templar lunged for her with his sword she was defenseless. The blade stabbed clean though her chest and she crumpled to the carpet in a spray of blood.

Seeing it, Rosa felt heat prick her eyes and shame stab at her. Autumn's death, and every death in this assembly hall, was her fault. But she couldn't change it now and giving up was as foreign to her as it was to Rogathe. With fresh rage, she flung fire at the Templars and then Fade stone and ice. She kept moving, her feet fleet and nimble as she danced out of reach of their blades and shields. Solas complemented her spells, following her fire with his own, her lightning with his strong ice spells. He parried blades with raw spirit force, and his fire burned so hot the edges of the Templars' silverite shields began to melt from repeated barrages.

But, behind them, the abomination was still alive and wreaking havoc as it slaughtered both mages and Templars. Each new mage mortally wounded and lying at the edge of death had the potential to become another monstrosity as he or she gave into weakness and, in desperation, allowed demons into their bodies. When Rosa twirled or spun as she cast, she caught glimpses of the beast tearing up the center of the room, assailed on all sides by enemies and yet undaunted. It had once been a woman, but now it was elongated and glowed green-white, the eyes enormous and with catlike vertical pupils. It had clawed hands, bony and elongated but deadly as it slashed. Needlelike teeth protruded sickeningly in its distorted mouth, glinting in the light from braziers.

The sight of it made her blood run cold.

Then, finally, one of the Templars died when Solas' Fade rock smashed into his helmeted head. The man had had the misfortune to fumble with his shield, lowering it enough that the rock found him squarely in the face. He fell like a sack of potatoes, limp and dead on impact. Blood coated the wall behind him from the intensity of the blow.

With only four Templars holding the door now their defense crumbled quickly. Another Templar screamed as an immolation spell caught the surcoat about his waist, scalding him. He flailed, trying in vain to put it out, and Solas sent a well-timed ice spike through him. This man flew into the double doors behind him, knocking them open as his body tumbled into the hall. Dozens of other Templars lined the corridor beyond the assembly hall and they drew their swords at the sight of their fallen comrade. They rushed for the door to hold it.

Solas snatched Rosa's hand, startling her a second as she had to abort her lightning spell. "Now, _vhenan,"_ he shouted to her as she made eye contact. The exit had only three Templars in this instant guarding it and the doors were open. Though additional guards were swarming toward them, they had to take the chance.

She nodded and enacted the stealth spell just as he did and, still clutching one another's hands, sprang for the open doors. They wove around the fighting mages and the remaining Templars, though their feet were anything but silent once they left the muffling influence of the red carpet in the assembly hall.

With his greater height, Solas led the way and plowed through the half-closed double doors, making them whine and groan as they swung open again. Rosa twisted round before he could push through, hauling her with him, and launched a few fireballs at the backs of the Templars trying to hold the doors. They screeched with pain and shock, thrashing as the flames took them. The mages deeper in the room surged forward with a shout, even though they'd never know exactly what had happened to break these Templars.

Then Solas charged through the doors and Rosa hustled with him, only to swallow a panicked yelp as three more Templars from the corridor surged by her. One of them brushed her and, alarmed, Rosa released Solas' hand as she pivoted and pushed against the man.

The Templar froze, whipping about and searching the corridor for her, even as his fellow men raced through the doors. Rosa tried to keep her breathing quiet as she backed away from the Templar, still invisible. It was unlikely that this man would hear her over the screaming, the roaring of flames, the crackle of lightning, and the ringing of Templar steel from inside the assembly hall. That cacophony drowned out all subtle sounds.

Other Templars charged in from further down the corridor, their shields glinting in the light from the stained glass windows. "What are you doing standing there, Ser Alain?" one of them shouted.

_Ser Alain,_ Rosa thought and recognized this man with a jolt. He'd been the one to interrogate her about her lineage and kinship to Tal. Her hands clenched into fists at her side and her shoulders hunched with fury at the pain and grief of that memory—of the utter helplessness as the Templars treated her like a criminal for having the audacity to have a brother. As if sharing blood with another was something to be ashamed of, as if Tal was shameful.

Even as she was reaching for mana to launch Fade stone at his face, Ser Alain whipped around and raced for the double doors to the assembly room, after his brothers in arms. The rage burning in Rosa's chest cooled as she saw the corridor was empty of Templars now, leaving the way clear. But where was Solas?

Taking a risk, she let the stealth spell die and, a beat later, she saw Solas appear near the end of the hall, crouched and tense. He motioned to her with one hand and Rosa Fade-stepped to reach him, taking his palm. They both summoned the stealth spell again and took off at a jog around the corner, headed for the stairwell.

The screech of another abomination, a rippling growl-roar this time, chased them down the corridor. The stone floor trembled with vibrations from the fighting and the sense of the demons in the possessed mages' bodies was like a nail pricking Rosa's skin, making it sting. Rosa remembered Eolas had warned her while mentoring her as a child that demons would be painful to her, more so in the waking world than in the Fade as a consequence of her Dreamer heritage. This was only the second time she'd had a chance to experience that firsthand. She hoped never to get closer to an abomination than she just had.

…Though technically the Templars would have called _her_ an abomination, too.

They pressed close to the walls, mutually holding their breath as four Templars rushed past, some of them still tugging and tying on their armor. None of them paused if they sensed the magic Solas and Rosa used. It was unlikely they even noticed with the constant charge and tingling in the air from the massive amount of magic being used in the assembly hall.

After the Templars had passed, Solas and Rosa reached the stairwell and let the invisibility spell fade, breathing hard. There was no time to waste or hesitate, however, so they sprang for the first steps as their mana recharged. Feet slapping on the stone, breath rasping roughly, and sweaty hands gripped tightly, they reached the landing in front of the second level. Rosa's mind raced looking at the closed door. This level would be brimming with Templars because it held the majority of their quarters. They _would_ encounter resistance; the only question was how _much?_

Taking on the stealth spell again as one, Solas grabbed the door handle and the latch clacked as it disengaged. It was unlocked. The door whined on its hinges as it swung open, revealing a dim hallway lit by one guttering torch. Rosa recognized it as the short hall leading past the dangerous relics storage rooms along the left side of the corridor. The hall doglegged immediately to their right beyond the door, leading to a large dining room where the keys to the relics room were stored. The Templars accessed their quarters through a door that led off that dining room. There was also a kitchen attached to the dining area where, undoubtedly, there'd be Tranquil slaving away preparing a meal for their Templar masters.

The clatter and clank of armor and boots echoed suddenly, rushing toward them from the dining area. Solas sprang forward into the dead-end relic storage and Rosa, holding his hand, ran with him. Their feet pattered on the floor and the sound made Rosa's heart lurch with fear, certain the Templars would hear it. But the men and women were in such a rush to storm out of the dining hall and get to the stairs that none of them paused. They chattered in hushed, hurried voices as their booted feet stomped on the stone and then the stairs beyond.

"What the _fuck_ is going on in there?"

"The Knight-Captain should have just ordered them all killed one by one in their rooms."

"Two-hundred and eighty nine mages? Seriously? That's a fourth of the mages here, maybe a third. The whole tower would revolt."

"What would _you_ have done? Clearly gathering them together for a chance to save themselves was a mistake."

"Shut it. Maker's breath, the only thing that matters now is that we stop them. They _cannot_ escape!"

The last Templar hustling out of the dining hall hesitated at the dogleg, twisting about as she fumbled with securing studded shoulder guards. She shouted toward the dining hall. "Hurry up, Jeremy."

Rosa recognized the woman suddenly; the distant memory of the day Curtis had harassed her and stolen the pendant from her swimming to the surface of her mind. This Templar had been a savior of sorts, having dragged Curtis, Rosa, Solas, and Tal to the Knight-Commander for her judgment in their dispute. _Ser Jade,_ she recalled. Of course, Rosa hadn't thought the woman much of a savior at the time, but Tal had repeatedly praised her for her relative fairness. Without Jade's intervention, Curtis could have dragged Rosa off to the dungeons to punish her for insubordination, doing whatever he liked to her once she was alone and in his complete control.

"I'm coming already," a familiar, gruff voice replied, distant as it came from deep in the dining area. "Lay off. I was _supposed_ to be off duty after playing fetch for the Knight-Captain."

"That was before everything went sideways," Jade scolded him, tightening the lace securing her shoulder guard.

Rosa felt her body flush with sweat and repressed a shudder of unpleasant heat. The stealth spell had begun to draw her mana down too low. Soon she'd have to release it or risk burnout. Through Solas' sweaty hand, she felt him shiver and heard the faint wheezing breath he made and knew he had lost control of the spell. Her stomach clenched with dread as she whipped her head and saw that he stood visible now, pressed to the wall, shoulders heaving, skin ashen and covered in sweat.

The sudden appearance drew Jade's attention and she jerked to face Solas, her mouth falling open. "By the Maker!" She let go of the lacing on her armor and drew her sword, the metallic ringing seeming to cut straight into Rosa's brain. "Submit, mage!"

"Andraste's tits," Jeremy's voice shouted from the dining hall. "What is it, Jade?"

Solas was further down the hall than Rosa, meaning she stood in Jade's way, though the Templar wouldn't know it. Without thinking, Rosa summoned up the sleep spell her father had taught her, funneling the mana into her palm. She released Solas' hand and lunged forward as Ser Jade advanced, angling sideways and leading with her sword as it shimmered blue with her magic-suppressing power. Rosa met the Templar, slapping her palm to the other woman's face. The sleep spell overwhelmed her invisibility, making it break and revealing her, but she was successful. Ser Jade's eyes rolled back in her head and she fell in a heap to the stone floor, her sword clattering loudly.

Panting, Rosa swayed on her feet, gritting her teeth at the rush of mild pain that swelled in her blood as her mana core pulsed with a warning not to push herself further. Booted feet clattered on the stone, rushing from the dining hall, and a heartbeat later Ser Jeremy stood in the entrance, shield and sword in hand though he wore only his surcoat and breastplate. The rest of his armor must still be inside, removed as he anticipated resting at the end of his shift but had been forced to return as the assembly fell to violence.

Snarling, he saw Ser Jade and the two mages and spat. "You knife-eared cunts."

Solas launched Fade stone at him, but Jeremy raised his shield and the rock ricocheted, smashing into the ground at his feet instead, clattering. Rosa flinched as bits of it impacted her legs and bounced off the walls. With a guttural shout, Jeremy flipped his sword around until it faced downward and plunged it to the stone. The sharp ringing noise of his power clawed at Rosa's ears as it shot out, crawling over her like a thousand needles.

The power seemed to hit Solas especially hard this time—likely he'd been about to cast and the mixture of mana drain and magic nullification hurt him. He winced, eyes squeezing shut and shaking his head. Rosa, less affected because she hadn't been actively casting, thrust out her palm to use immolate on Jeremy. The red fire runes leapt to life beneath his feet and ignited. Without his full armor the Templar was vulnerable and he yelped, backtracking into the dining hall as he slapped at himself using both shield and sword, uttering curses under his breath.

"The key," Solas said, his breath still coming too fast and his expression pained.

"We have to kill him fast," Rosa said with a nod. Baring her teeth in a ferocious grin, she Fade stepped through Jeremy, covering him with frost and putting herself into the room and behind him. Her mana was recovering quickly, but she had to be careful not to overexert herself too soon, so she tossed a barrier over herself rather than attack.

Jeremy now found himself sandwiched between the two mages as Solas appeared in the doorway, glowering and deadly, hands raised to cast. Lifting his shield, Jeremy hugged the wall adjacent to the exit door, removing himself neatly from the sandwiched position. Solas strode calmly through the door, though his steps were catlike and full of liquid grace—confidence borne from some vast experience.

Rosa tried not to let Solas distract her as she paralleled Jeremy's motions, walking along the tapestry opposite the Templar's wall where she knew the keys to the relic room had been hidden. She brushed a hand along the tapestry, heart thundering in her chest and blood rushing in her ears. Igniting it with a thought, she watched with a cold grin as Jeremy's eyes darted to the flames, widening with alarm.

"Filthy savage," he snarled, eyes flicking warily between the two elves and then the burning tapestry.

"And trickster," Rosa added. "Don't forget that." Jerking on the tapestry as the flames spread wildly over it, throwing intense heat on her back and arms and one side of her face as it flew free from the wall with a roar of fire. She spun, flinging the burning tapestry at Jeremy. He raised his shield and shouted curses, scrambling to avoid the fiery blanket. The tapestry landed over the long table and the chair, catching the wood afire with a flash of light and an energetic crackling as the flames took this new kindling eagerly.

Solas was eyeing her with a strange look when she glanced to him, but he swiftly seemed to recollect himself as he made a throwing motion, sending a volley of ice flying at Jeremy. Several of the spikes clattered and broke harmlessly over his shield, but one found its mark—striking the exposed bit of skin where his shoulders, chest, and neck all came together. Jeremy staggered at the impact, gagging and choking. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and the wound, forcing its way past the ice spike.

Solas clenched a fist and punched downward, casting a Veilstrike to follow up and Jeremy gurgled as the magic pushed him face first into the stone floor. Blood pooled rapidly outward from Jeremy's twitching form, a sure sign that he would not rise again to threaten them. Seeing they'd won, Rosa whipped around and reached for the hook and keys that the tapestry had hidden…

Her hand closed on air. Her palm landed on cold stone. The keys weren't there.

"No," she said, shaking her head in consternation. "They're not here…what?"

Solas was at her side, Fade-stepping with a whine-pop. He stared at the empty hook, eyes narrowed. "They must have moved them," he concluded stiffly. "After Kali's death."

" _Fenedhis,"_ Rosa cursed, slapping a palm against the stone in frustration. The smoke from the growing fire had begun to sting her eyes and burn her throat. The air around them had grown thick, choked and hazy with smoke. "What do we do now?" she asked, trying not to gag on each breath.

"We may possibly unlock it yet," Solas suggested, jaw clenching. His eyes were moist, probably stinging as much as hers in the growing smoke. His nostrils flared and his throat bobbed with the increasing difficulty of breathing. "Did you bring your improvised lock pick?"

Eager to escape the smoke, Rosa whipped around for the door and Fade-stepped through it into the empty corridor. Striding for the relic rooms, she dug hurriedly through her robes until she found the butter knife, filed down into a lock pick. Hearing his steps close behind her, Rosa held the knife over her head so that Solas could see she had it. "I'll give it a shot, _vhenan."_

At the door to the relic room where the orb was stored, Rosa knelt and stuck the knife into the lock. Jiggling her wrist about, she twisted it, feeling the lock give way slightly—but not as much as it should have. These locks were more robust than the ones used on doors elsewhere in the tower. Greater security must have been used for these doors because anything kept in these rooms was considered too dangerous to risk.

Gritting her teeth against the flutter of her heart and the burning in her throat from the smoke, which had followed them out into the hall, Rosa kept working at it. Solas hovered over her, tense and alert even as he gave the occasional dry cough. "Will you be able to manage it?" he asked, sounding strained.

"It'll take a while," she said with a grunt as the lock gave way again slightly. "But…yes."

"We have little time," Solas cautioned her. Twisting to look over his shoulder toward the stairs and Ser Jade's collapsed body, he cursed. "We cannot leave her alive."

Rosa frowned but didn't stop her work with the lock. "Why not?"

Solas didn't answer her and instead hurried down the hall to kneel at Jade's side. Rosa heard the metallic clink of metal and turned to look just in time to see Solas plunge the Templar woman's sword into her neck, killing her in her sleep. Cold swept over Rosa and then heat with irritation. "What are you doing?" she demanded, hands freezing on the lock. "She was defenseless!" They had done the same to Kali, but she'd seen the necessity of it then because they still required secrecy. Now, what did it matter that Jade had seen them? They were escaping and their phylacteries had been destroyed.

He pivoted to face her, his expression warped with both shame and something dark that only intensified the cold pit inside Rosa's stomach. "I cannot allow any survivors who might be able to identify us. I'm sorry."

Gnashing her teeth, Rosa returned to working with the lock, though her stomach roiled with acid and she felt queasy. She'd guessed Solas held deeper secrets than he'd admitted but this was the first time she'd felt he could be truly menacing or underhanded—even to _her._ The memory of him striding through the doorway of the Templar dining area a few moments ago, dark and confident with his catlike grace…he was not a being of timeless wisdom then but a hardened warrior and killer in a way Rosa had never seen from Eolas.

_Mythal's general,_ she remembered and swallowed, grimacing at the pain in her throat as it wasn't simply from the irritation of the smoke now. _He still serves her—or someone._ The night before Tal had told her that their father had left him with an ominous, unclear message that she and Tal were both in danger. That much seemed pathetically obvious, but Tal had also told her their father seemed oddly fascinated with Solas— _Revas,_ as Tal still thought of him. Was it basic recognition, as in Eolas had realized Solas was a fellow Elvhen survivor, or was it something more?

_What if they were enemies?_

_No,_ she thought, dismissing that as paranoid drivel. Tal was right about her. Since being banished, she saw danger and betrayal where it wasn't in self-defense. There was no way Solas had faked his emotions. She had felt them in the Fade, seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. His affection was real and whatever secrets he still held, she was certain she could trust him with her life.

_If that's true,_ an annoying voice challenged her, _why haven't you told him why the Formless One truly wanted your blood? Why haven't you told him your great-grandmother was the All-Mother, the woman he served in Elvhenan? Why haven't you told him Dirthamen was your grandfather, that His gift runs in your veins?_

She pushed those thoughts aside as the lock clacked, giving way. The mechanism inside unlatched and she grinned, hacking out a few dry coughs as she tried to say, "I've finished! We can go in." But Solas made no move for the door, gazing through the gray, smoky air instead, tense with alarm and with both hands elevated to cast. Gradually Rosa saw forms emerge through the smoky air: Templars walking up from the stairs.

"Shit," she cursed.

Solas tossed a barrier up over the both of them and then lobbed ice chunks at the first approaching Templar, but the projectile bounced harmlessly from the man's shield. It flew back at Solas, crashing against his barrier and making it flicker. With a cry, Rosa sent lightning out, arcing from one Templar to another. They flinched but none of them faltered or fell. Each purple-white blast lit up their armor, brightening the gloom of the smoke in the already dark hallway and letting her count how many they faced. There were five flashes.

_Oh no…_

As Solas hurled Fade rock at them, aiming high to try and hit their heads, Rosa opened the door to the storage room. The world spun and her eyes streamed moisture as she stumbled forward into the darkness of the storage room and breathed in mercifully clean air. But already the smoke had begun pouring into the room behind her, billowing and rolling like clouds.

Coughing, she scanned the dark shelves, seeing nothing—but she _felt_ it. There was a heavy sensation somewhere in this room. It felt similar to when she sensed spirits and demons pressing against the Veil, peeking through it in thin spots. The Veil was warped here, twisted in some spots and stretched thin in others. It was…turbulent. A wind only mages could feel—or maybe only Dreamers.

Blinking and frowning with bemusement, Rosa moved forward, following that sense, but then, from the hall, she heard a Templar shout. Armor clattered and boots pounded on the stone. She heard Solas grunt and then came the loud, slick boom of a mindblast. If he was using that then the Templars were closing on him too fast for comfort.

Whipping around, Rosa Fade-stepped out of the dark storage room and back into the hall. She saw the lead Templar had made a charge for Solas, but the mindblast had knocked him backward and toppled two of the other Templars as well. But the fourth and fifth down the line remained unaffected and they had thrust their swords to the stone, calling forth their power in a blue wave. It rolled forward through the narrow hall, crashing over both Solas and Rosa, making them wince and stagger.

The lead Templar had regained his footing in time to take advantage of their weakness and lashed out with his sword, aiming for Solas, who was closer. The blade glowed blue as it cut through Solas' barrier, splintering it with the Templar's magic nullification. The moment seemed to crawl, Rosa's heart leaping into her throat as she saw Solas flinch backward just a fraction of a second too slow. She hurled a fireball at the Templar's arm, hoping she'd been fast enough to deflect the blade, but she saw it wasn't enough as the sword raked across Solas' thigh.

"No!" She tossed a barrier over both of them and Fade-stepped through the Templar, freezing him. Popping out of it, she found herself trapped between the Templars in the corridor, with two men between herself and Solas and another three blocking her approach to the stairwell or the dogleg to the burning dining area. Breathing hard, head spinning with smoke, she unleashed a powerful mindblast followed immediately by a Veilstrike, flattening all five Templars.

"Go, Solas!" she shouted back at him, coughing and squinting to make out his shape further down the hall. He was still upright, though he clutched at his thigh and she was sure she saw the red-black of blood flowing freely from the wound. There were huge arteries in the thigh, she knew, and he _could_ be dying.

This fight needed to end _now._

She felt Rogathe pressing on the Veil, heard its voice echoing with eagerness. _I am here,_ da'len. _Call me and I will join with you._

But she remembered the screech of the abominations in the assembly hall and shuddered, holding back. What if Rogathe became a demon this time?

" _Vhenan!"_ Solas yelled to her, his voice hoarse. "Please…"

The Templars around her were already beginning to rise. The one furthest from her and closest to the stairs lifted his sword, glowing blue, and charged toward her with a roar. The ringing sound of his power raced toward her and Rosa frantically hurled a Fade stone at him before it hit her. The impact knocked him backward, into his comrades, just as his power washed over Rosa, making her cringe and shake with prickling pain over her skin.

From behind her, Rosa sensed movement too late, recovering from the latest nullification too slowly as the Templar nearest her struck. She felt the sting of his blade as it cut into her left side, piercing her unarmored mage robes easily. She heard Solas shouting, anguished and furious, saw him lift both hands to fling fire and ice with new desperation. Rosa felt moisture trickling down her side as the sting transformed into a sharp, stabbing pain. She felt her body jerk as the Templar who'd stabbed her ripped the blade from her and cursed her, spitting. He was going to spear her again, making the killing blow.

Her legs were weak from the pain, but Rosa whipped about and, teeth bared and flashing, she let out another mindblast in a powerful boom that cleared away even the smoke billowing from the dining room. The Templar who'd stabbed her fell back, fumbling as he dropped his shield. Rosa coughed as the smoke rushed back in, only to feel more blood to trickle from her side, rushing down her leg.

Down the hall, Rosa saw Solas still had not disappeared into the storage room, refusing to leave her. She felt his magic spread over her in a comforting touch as he cast a barrier. Dizzy, whether from the blood loss, the pain in her side, or the smoke, Rosa wasn't certain, but all five Templars remained alive and they had nowhere to run…

This time, when Rogathe pressed against the Veil, a presence only Rosa could feel and hear, she reached out to it with her inner senses, the same ones she used to reshape the Fade. Connecting with the spirit, she squeezed her eyes shut, and called it. _Come to me, Rogathe. Help me fight these cowards._ She opened herself and felt the Veil tear with a crackling, ripping sound.

Light enveloped her and she knew no more.

* * *

The Templar facing Solas still held his shield aloft, deflecting all Solas' basic ice and fire spells, but winter's grasp kept him from charging or advancing too quickly. Solas had found himself disturbingly low on mana after each encounter with the Templars now that he and Rosa were the only mages about, his passive spells for absorbing stray mana were no longer effective while fighting Templars in a room where the air was choked with smoke rather than magic.

In such confined spaces, he and Rosa stood little chance against five Templars. Movement was their advantage normally; being able to attack at range while the Templars had to close with shield and sword and could only hope to hold off their magic with blasts of their spell purge trick. Now they lacked that advantage and there was no stray mana for Solas to use to replenish his own stores when he used more powerful spells. Rosa had greater reserves, but he could not draw from her now.

His chest was still tight with dread, terrified that she would die in this fight when she'd Fade-stepped away from him. In the middle of the Templars her mindblasts and Veilstrikes were more effective, encompassing the men in her greater circle of influence, but it also left her incredibly open to attack. When she'd been stabbed, Solas could do nothing except keep tossing barriers over her and attacking the two Templars separating him from her. But his leg throbbed and the amount of blood leaking from it was enough to be disturbing, forcing him to focus on himself for a moment. He cast a strong winter's grasp to slow the Templar ahead of him and then immediately focused on healing himself.

Solas had just managed to siphon off enough mana to close the wound on his thigh with a fast, sloppy healing spell when he heard an awful crackling-boom and saw green-white light. Wincing against it, Solas erected a barrier over himself and Rosa, though the light obscured her from view. His heart pounded, guessing what was happening.

Rogathe had possessed her.

Eyes streaming with moisture, Solas gritted his teeth as he saw Rosa reappear, though she was still bathed in bright white light. The Templars closest to the stairwell shouted with alarm, turning their blades and shields, as did the one who'd stabbed Rosa. Their cry rose up, quavering with horror even as they prepared to face this new threat. "Abomination! Abomination!"

" _Cowards,"_ Rosa shouted, her voice warped and deeper than usual. With a swing of her arms, she crushed them to the ground with a Veilstrike that made the tower shake. Cracks appeared in the walls, dribbling grit as they widened. _"I will smite you!"_

The Templar nearest to Solas lunged at him, taking advantage of his gawking stare. The thrust of his blade fell short as Solas pirouetted away just in time and lobbed Fade rock at his head, exposed as it had been by his lunge. The rock connected with a clatter, shattering against the man's helmet, knocking him against the inner wall of the tower. He slumped and did not rise again as blood ran in rivulets from beneath his helmet.

Rosa—or was it Rogathe in truth now rather than the elven woman?—had snatched up the man who'd stabbed her. He slashed at her with his sword, but Rosa caught his wrist, wrenching it. The Templar screamed as the limb flopped at an unnatural angle, utterly ruined. His sword fell to the floor and Rosa whipped about as the Templars before her raced in to attack from behind. She flung the man who'd stabbed her at them as if he were nothing but a ragdoll. He crashed into two of the men and they fell in a twisting mess of limbs and screams.

The Templar nearest the stairs panicked, just managing to dodge this rather unorthodox attack, and turned to flee. Rosa thrust out one arm in a grabbing motion and raw spirit energy wafted in from the stairwell, pushing the fleeing Templar back into the corridor. He fell in a heap, colliding with the other four Templars, only three of whom seemed capable of rising. The man who'd stabbed Rosa had been too gravely wounded to get up.

With the lot of the Templars bundled together, Rosa unleashed fire on them from both hands in an unending torrent. The men screamed and writhed, trying to summon their magic nullifying powers but in too much pain to do so. The awful stink of burning hair and meat assaulted Solas' nostrils.

Coughing and trying not to gag, Solas sprang now for the storage room, confident that Rosa wouldn't die while he was away. The orb sang to him; a constant, heavy hum in his mind as it recognized its master. He hurried, limping only slightly at the stabbing pain in his thigh, to the shelf where the song emanated and grabbed the orb. It tingled in his hand, coming alive as its magic reacted to his own. Clutching the orb close, Solas hunched down, trying to find fresh air somewhere lower. It didn't help much, just made his leg hurt more with the unnatural position.

Reentering the hall, Solas saw Rosa had finally finished killing the Templars. She stood in the center of the hall, swaying slightly, glowing brilliantly white. Her back was to him, her shoulders heaving. Illuminated as she was, Solas could see the black stains of blood running down the dark blue of her robes. Rogathe's possession had probably healed her, but the sight of it still made him wince with empathy.

"Rosa!" he called, hoarse and struggling not to cough on the smoke. "We must escape!"

She whipped around, eyes narrowing. White light spilled out from them and through her vallaslin. Her nostrils flared. Something in her posture made Solas hesitate, reading it as less than friendly. Hunched and fighting to breathe, desperate to get out of this level and into clean air, he remained cautious and wary. He could not allow himself to die here—even if it meant he had to fight Rosa or Rogathe.

"Dread Wolf," Rosa said and Solas' skin erupted in gooseflesh as he reminded himself this was Rogathe speaking.

Or, at least, he hoped it was.

"Call me what you will," Solas wheezed out, hacking into his free hand. "We must leave before we suffocate!"

"But we cannot be seen," Rosa-Rogathe said, frowning.

At this point, Solas hardly cared. The fire and the smoke had destroyed any chance of this being a clean escape. He felt lightheaded and gritted his teeth, sucking in greedy, useless lungfuls of air but couldn't seem to find enough to answer the possessed elven woman.

No answer was needed, however, as a heartbeat later Rosa-Rogathe turned from him and laid her palms on the cracked stone wall of the next relic storage room on the outer tower wall. With a guttural shout she conjured a raw wave of force from spirit energy. Solas grimaced as he heard the crackling sound of the Veil tearing again in response to so much raw magic. But the next instant he gasped with relief as he saw the wall crumble, the stone blocks splintering and crumbling. Rosa clawed at it, pulling bricks free until there was a space large enough to pass through if they ducked and sidestepped. Solas followed after her and as they stepped into the unopened relic storage room, he almost groaned with relief at the relatively smoke-free breath of air he drew.

Rosa-Rogathe no longer shone as she previously had, dimming somewhat, but she strode to the far wall opposite and slapped her palms over the stone again. "Pride," she called, almost growling. "I may fade away after I break this wall. It will be up to you to free us."

"It will be a long drop to the ground," Solas cautioned. The last thing either of them needed was a broken leg. Though he knew spells to fix it, most were quite taxing and would probably drain him too much to be feasible.

She twisted around to shoot him a withering look. "If you cannot manage to soften the landing than how can you be called an Evanuris?"

Solas bristled, his pride wounded, but he bit his tongue to stay silent.

Rosa-Rogathe focused on the wall and once more the stone cracked and the Veil stretched and twisted, making Solas flinch. This time, as the wall splintered and broke in the face of the wave of her raw spirit energy, Rosa's light spluttered like a candle in a stiff wind and then went out. She fell and Solas darted forward to catch her with his free arm, awkwardly trying to manage both the elven woman and the orb.

Smoke billowed through the room, finding its way out the small crack Rosa had made. Seeing that, Solas laid Rosa down on the floor and tucked the orb into his robes as he hurried to begin tearing chunks away. It seemed to take hours, but eventually, after breaking his nails and leaving his fingers bloodied, Solas forced the hole wide enough that he could just squeeze himself and Rosa through it.

Shoving his head out the hole, he gasped and sucked on the fresh air, shoulders heaving. Smoke flowed past him, white-gray in the light from the moon overhead. Solas surveyed the land ahead and below, seeing a layer of white snow and a few overgrown bushes.

_It will have to do,_ he thought.

Turning round, Solas knelt and pulled Rosa into his arms. Clutching her head to his chest and tucking her legs as close to himself as he could, Solas crouched low and walked to the hole. Sucking in deep breaths despite the acrid smoke burning his nasal passageways and lungs, he reached inside for mana and envisioned it as a cloud of spirit magic. Then, ignoring the mild flutter of panic in his chest, Solas took the plunge and stepped off into the darkness.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"The Slow Arrow intended to trade the passphrase for [his children's] lives. He would not have gotten it from his ward Briala had he not believed his children's lives were at risk."

"I would not have harmed them," Solas growled again, eyes squeezing shut. _How could you have thought so little of me,_ falon?

"He did not think little of you," Rogathe told him, reading his mind in the way of spirits. "He held you in great respect, but the path you follow became one of destruction to him rather than restoration. It was one he could no longer follow."

* * *

A/N: That Slow Arrow, man, still killing Solas and all of us softly even from the grave. While editing this I had "Brothers In Arms" from Mad Max, a cover by LittleV on YouTube playing and it was timed perfectly to the moment Rogathe possesses Rosa. Soundtracks!

Two chapters left, and they're not especially long ones. 


	34. The Lonely Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not everything about spirits is evil. We use spirits to heal, and the Chantry accepts this because it's useful."—Rhys (Dragon Age Asunder)
> 
> "And I will take joy in my love finding her people, even as my breast aches with every heartbeat I live without you."—Celene (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Rogathe has a heart to heart with Solas. Free of the Circle at last, Rosa and Solas make plans for the future as they travel east across the Free Marches...and can't keep their hands off each other. But, privately, Solas is wracked by guilt.

Despite a mildly sprained ankle and the ache of the wound in his thigh, Solas carried Rosa in his arms across the snowy field, heading to a dark copse of pine trees. The tower was burning from more than the fire Rosa had started in the Templar dining area. Smoke poured from windows on the first floor and from several levels higher, indicating multiple fires.

It was clear that the Templars had failed in their mission to keep their mage charges from escaping as well. Solas saw other figures fleeing the tower in the familiar Circle robes, huddling together and shivering against the bite of the late autumn wind, illuminated by the milky moonlight. If any Templars remained, and doubtless there would be some, they would soon venture out to recapture these escapees—including Solas and Rosa. That meant he had to be cautious and quick.

When he reached the copse of dark pines, Solas kept going, pushing on through both his pain and the cold. Magic kept him warm when he called it, but Solas used it only intermittently to preserve his mana in case he encountered brigands or Templars or wild animals. He headed east, knowing that eventually his journey would bring him to Zevanni and Var and their motley band of marauding Dalish. Just before dawn he crested a hill and saw the walled city of Hasmal below. He knew better than to head for it and instead set off to circumnavigate it, crossing between wooded areas for cover.

As the first golden rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, Solas finally let himself collapse in the first halfway protective bunch of brushy leaf litter beneath a fragrant pine. The pine had prevented much of the snow from accumulating on this spot and the branches created a deadfall that partially protected them from the wind. Solas curled up close with Rosa for warmth, resting against the pine tree trunk, and let himself drift off into sleep—dreamless because of his exhaustion.

He woke shivering violently and started as he saw Rosa was awake—but she was not herself. She stared at him over one shoulder, though her back was otherwise to him, and her eyes, vallaslin, and nostrils glowed the bright white he knew indicated Rogathe was in control currently. Turning away from him, she said, "I would have words with you."

She had clearly extricated herself from his arms while he slept, and that must have been what had woken him. Now she sat at the edge of the deadfall, staring out at the forest, lit golden with the sunshine of early afternoon. The snow was crisp and bright, birds chirped overhead and the air was blessedly clean. It was an idyllic scene, except for the fact that Solas was cold and hungry and his present companion was not what he had hoped.

Shivering, he sat up and summoned a bit of magic to warm himself, warding away the chill. As soon as he could speak without his teeth chattering humiliatingly, Solas said, "Speak your mind, _elgar."_

"It is not _my_ mind I speak," Rogathe said. It still had not turned to face him and its posture was rigid, tense.

Now Solas was cold for reasons other than the external temperature around him. "Speak plainly," he ordered.

"You know who she is," Rogathe said in a growl. "You know she is Felassan's firstborn. He found me before he went to you that night. He knew he would almost certainly die, but he refused to be cowed by his fear of you and what you would do to his children once you knew of them."

"I would never have harmed them," Solas spat, shaking with sudden emotion, feeling nauseous.

"He did not believe that. He feared they would be _shem_ to you, tools for your use, to be discarded when the time was right. He feared you would hold them hostage to force his cooperation. The fear that they would someday be used against him kept him from embracing them." Rogathe extended a hand and brushed it against a dry, dead leaf still attached to the brush of their deadfall. It fell away, fragile, and landed in the dirt and pine needles the possessed elven woman sat upon. "He wanted them to live free and in peace. He saw no chance of that if they served you, Pride. Or any other. As long as he lived, they could never be free."

"He _wished_ to die the night he faced me?" Solas asked, hands clenching into fists.

"Not at first. He was ashamed. He had run from the problem and his fear for many years. He kept his children at a distance for fear that they might one day pique unwanted interest from you or another in your service. When he learned from Tal that you were in the Hasmal tower, he falsely believed you knew who they were. He was certain they would be threatened or killed when he failed to produce the passphrase to the eluvians." Rogathe let out a short, huffing breath. "When I met him, I revealed that you did not know the truth. It was then that the Slow Arrow decided he must face you at last. He knew it would prove to be his end, but once he was no longer part of this world you would have no reason to take interest in his children."

"You should have dissuaded him," Solas snarled, trying to quash his anger, to view the situation logically. _Of course_ Rogathe hadn't told Felassan to hold back and evade danger. It was a spirit of bravery and had probably disapproved of Felassan's indecision and hesitation for years. The true blame here lied with Solas, whose hand had administered the killing blow.

"He was my elder," Rogathe snapped, irritably. "He was the Slow Arrow. I met him as he slumbered and sensed his great wisdom. I followed him when he woke. I admired his struggle, the plight of the People against overwhelming odds. When he learned of Rosa's birth, he asked me to watch over her and I have. My duty was never to dictate to the Slow Arrow, but to teach and protect his daughter. I was there to watch her from the Fade every night, and when he summoned me, I told him of how she grew."

Solas stared down at the dirt and pine needles, jaw clenching as his throat burned with grief. How much of Felassan's fears were imagined and how many had been accurate reads of Solas? The question shamed him, but it was very much one he knew he would have to consider. He recalled the envy demon that Tal had thought misjudged Solas so completely when it said the Dalish siblings were beneath him and wouldn't have been worth his time if they hadn't been trapped together in the tower. This was a similar problem. Predicting his own attitude toward Rosa and Tal without having spent all this time with them was impossible.

"The Slow Arrow intended to trade the passphrase for their lives. He would not have gotten it from his ward Briala had he not believed his children's lives were at risk."

"I would not have harmed them," Solas growled again, eyes squeezing shut. _How could you have thought so little of me,_ falon?

"He did not think little of you," Rogathe told him, reading his mind in the way of spirits. "He held you in great respect, but the path you follow became one of destruction to him rather than restoration. It was one he could no longer follow."

"He knew this world is an abomination, a mistake," Solas muttered, his throat tight with emotion he couldn't name any longer. Grief? Anger? Outrage? Guilt? Despair? Loneliness? Loss? His eyes stung, feeling gritty.

Rogathe continued on in a solemn voice, too deep to be natural for Rosa. "His great affection for you had kept him in your service, more than his fear that his defiance would earn death. But he had grown to love this world and believed the elves inhabiting it should be given a chance to thrive on their own. He hoped you would listen, but knew you almost certainly would not." Rogathe sighed. "He feared to die, but in the end, his bravery prevailed. I am proud to have known him."

Solas bowed his head, staring at his pale hands in his lap, clenched into fists. His heart ached, throbbing with each beat. _Oh,_ falon, he thought, _why did you not share this with me?_ If Felassan had told him, Solas could have come to an agreement with him, a compromise that would save Rosa and Tal…but he also knew that wish was a foolish, futile one. If Rogathe's read on Felassan was accurate, and Solas suspected it was, his old friend had chosen this _shem-_ world fully over Elvhenan. Solas could never have trusted Felassan again and would always fear that one day his friend would betray him at some crucial moment, ensuring his ultimate failure in order to save modern Thedas.

Felassan had been right. The only way he could truly escape was through death.

Rogathe laid its hands down on the bed of pine needles and shuffled, turning round to face Solas directly. Its white eyes gleamed out from Rosa, her lips parted slightly formed a brilliant white line. Her vallaslin sparkled like sunshine on the snow, lit from within. Rogathe crossed its arms over its chest, regarding him stiffly.

Seeing it, Solas tensed. Had Felassan asked the spirit to kill him to protect Rosa and Tal?

"No," Rogathe said, reading his mind. It shook its head, shifting Rosa's brown hair with the motion. "Slow Arrow did not charge me with such a task. He did not believe it possible, even were I to possess Rosa." It narrowed its eyes at him. "But Rosa's knowledge tells me you are no Evanuris now. Rosa and I combined _could_ triumph over you."

Solas glared at the spirit, saying nothing. His mana bubbled, ready to be summoned, but he didn't draw from it. The birds went on chirping and the wind sighed in through the pine overhead.

"She loves you," Rogathe said then. "And she believes you love her as well. This was not something Felassan knew or suspected and I did not see it so clearly myself until I joined with her in the tower to save her." Rogathe's hands—Rosa's, really—fidgeted in her lap. "She would have died to help you, even knowing you have not ceased lying to her. It would be cruel and cowardly of me to attack and kill you using her form against her will. I cannot use her power recklessly. Such selfishness is anything but valiant."

It was silent for a moment, then let out a huff and went on. "I cannot abide such an action, though I must ask you, Dread Wolf, what you intend to do with her? Although the Slow Arrow no longer lives, my duty does not end with him. I will preserve and watch over Rosa—and Tal as well, because she wills it. To that end, I will do what I must…"

 _I will do what I must._ Solas continued to glower, trying to assess the spirit and finding he did not like what he saw. He had believed Rogathe a simple spirit, incapable of deception. Now he saw it was at least capable of omitting information. It was learning, evolving. Felassan might have encouraged that as much or more than Rogathe's time spent inside Rosa. In his final meeting with the spirit of bravery, Felassan might have opened a great deal to Rogathe, letting it take on more of himself than ever before. Doing so would ensure Rogathe was an effective, accurate messenger, but it also made the spirit…more of a _person._

He interpreted Rogathe's cagey phrase to mean the spirit would grow hostile to him on principle. It would take sides. That wasn't exactly a new development. It had told him before it would fight him if he tried to attack Rosa. But the only way it could be a true threat to Solas was by possessing Rosa so that the two of them could combine power. That was yet another sign of its evolving understanding as it grasped the fact that things other than willpower influenced the physical plane. Yet, Rogathe had also said it would not use her magic against Solas unless Rosa was a willing participant. To reach that point, the spirit would have to convince Rosa that Solas was her enemy.

And that meant it would tell Rosa what it knew. Everything.

Solas' breathing slowed, his body going still and deadly. "You will reveal me."

Rogathe stared at him evenly, unafraid and unflinching. "I will do what I must to ensure Rosa and Tal live on." It cocked its head slightly. "Are you a threat to my ward, Dread Wolf?"

"I have said repeatedly I would not have harmed them," Solas snapped.

"And yet you are not certain whether that is true," Rogathe pointed out, making Solas scowl. "It is simply what you _wish_ to believe. I do not care whether you would have harmed them in the past. My concern is the present and the future. What will you do, Dread Wolf?"

Solas kept his mind blank, burying his emotions and his thoughts where Rogathe wouldn't sense them. It took concentration and a smidgen of mana to do and he was, as far as he could tell, the only person capable of this particular trick. It had been this trick that allowed him to get so close to the Forgotten Ones that he could ultimately deceive them. They'd found their inability to read him fascinating and kept him around hoping they could find a way past it. Solas, in turn, became a spy or an ally, depending on his goals.

"I cannot alter my path," Solas said, low and somber, glaring. "But I intend no harm to either Tal or Rosa."

"Your path will see them burn with this world, will it not?" Rogathe pressed. It leaned forward slightly, and Solas guessed it was perturbed or bemused that it could no longer read him.

Now Solas clenched his jaw, reaching a decision. "No. I will honor Felassan's wish for them. They will be free and live however they desire. I will not recruit them." He steeled his spine, meeting the spirit's gaze head on as he said, "Shortly before my plans reach fruition, I will approach them with the truth and offer them sanctuary from the chaos if they desire it." Inwardly, however, Solas came to a slightly different conclusion that he hid from Rogathe, knowing the spirit would disapprove.

He would not leave Felassan's children to burn with the chaos of the new world he created, whatever they wished. They would have no choice in the matter. Once they were safe, Solas would ensure they learned the truth about him and their father. He owed them that much. It would be a difficult truth to accept, and they might both hate him for it, but in time—in the new world, which he expected he would die creating—they would overcome it. Rogathe would never approve of this strategy because it prevented Rosa and Tal from the inherent bravery of facing this issue and making a _choice._ Solas typically would have disapproved of such a strategy as well, but there were some things he just couldn't leave to chance.

Now Rogathe settled back, nodding. "I approve, but there is the matter of Rosa's affection for you." It scowled, shaking its head as if revolted. "I confess, I do not know what to do regarding this matter. She has made her intentions and desires clear and expects to be wounded. Her bravery is just what I've come to expect from her. It is you I cannot hope to predict, Dread Wolf. You are even older than the Slow Arrow, though I wonder if he was more a spirit of wisdom while you are a being of pride above all things."

Solas remained impassive at this, refusing to reveal any reaction. He had always enjoyed the brutal honesty of spirits like wisdom, truth, compassion, faith, and love, though the latter two had a tendency to become blind to faults. Yet, hearing this assessment of himself from even a spirit of bravery was…disconcerting. Even annoying, really.

When he said nothing for several long seconds, Rogathe went on: "If you intend to remain with her, I must insist you tell her who and what you are. I will counsel Rosa to do the same with you—though you have already learned much of what she holds secret. To continue as you are with her unknowing will mark you as an irredeemable coward. I cannot condone such a partnership and will warn her against you." Its brow furrowed, wrinkling in anger. "Aggressively."

Dipping his chin to show respect, Solas replied, "I understand."

Rogathe grunted then, a tight smile spreading over its lips—Rosa's lips, really. "You're not going to tell me your intentions, are you?"

Solas stared at the spirit without flinching, saying nothing.

Rogathe eyed him critically and then sighed, still unable to read Solas of course. "Perhaps you do not know your intentions yet even yourself. Pride will not admit when it does not know the path it will take."

"Perhaps," Solas hedged. Rogathe was far too clever for its own good currently. He could not deny that he wanted _badly_ to keep Rosa at his side as a lover. He had not had someone who was attracted to _him_ rather than his magic or his position or his persona as Fen'Harel since adolescence and very young adulthood. Not counting, of course, numerous spirits. The thought of losing her now, by choice, left him feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach. Of course that person had been _himself._ Keeping her close to him now that they were out of the tower would mean she would inevitably learn the truth about him and if she did not accept it he would be forced to kill her. That was an unacceptable risk. Better then to give her up for her own protection.

…And he suspected that Felassan wouldn't have approved. There had been a time when Felassan was close to a brother or a son to him, which would make Rosa akin to a niece or a granddaughter. _That_ was an awkward thought.

Rogathe closed its eyes, shoulders slumping and head drooping. "Very well. I can see our discussion has come to its end."

"Will you return to the Fade?" Solas asked it.

"When and if she releases me," Rogathe answered somberly. "But I will _always_ be watching." This last was a clear warning.

Solas had expected as much. " _Ma serannas,"_ he told it. "For your aid in our escape."

Rogathe shrugged dismissively. "To do any less would have made me a coward _and_ a failure." It laid a hand over its chest, indicating Rosa. "She is my ward."

Shifting, Rogathe lay down on the pine needles, arms wrapped around itself to ward away the cold. Solas saw the gash in Rosa's robes and the bloodstains there as the spirit closed its eyes, the white light winking out. The skin beneath was whole except for an ugly scar. Rogathe had saved her, again.

The marks of her vallaslin dimmed, becoming simple tattoos again. Solas watched them, holding back his desire to reach out and trace those cruel markings, longing to wash them away from her lovely cheeks. _You will never be a slave,_ ma vhenan _,_ he vowed. More than that, she and her brother would be survivors, pioneers in the new restored world shaped by his will and given life with his dying breath.

The din'anshiral he walked would be for her and the People, not just to right his own wrongs and mistakes.

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking and hoarse with both emotion and damage from the smoke he'd inhaled. "Forgive me."

* * *

Rosa woke to the scent of clean, crisp air. Warm arms enveloped her, but she felt the cold despite them. Her robes were thin, meant for indoors. She shivered and her teeth started to chatter. Opening her eyes, she found sunshine streaming in through the boughs of a pine tree above. Brambles and barren branches lay tangled in a windbreak in front of her. Behind her, cuddled close and holding her, she sensed Solas and smiled with relief.

Rising, she turned to observe him and saw him waking as well, blearily blinking his blue eyes. "You're awake," he said, his voice heavy with sleep and croaky. "Is Rogathe within you?"

That question gave her pause as she frowned and tried to remember. Her memory when the spirit took over was virtually nonexistent. The most she could ever recover was a sense of déjà vu. Rogathe had lent her the memories of its win against the bandits who'd attacked her clan that day almost two years ago on the banks of the Fehorn River. But now, so soon after their escape, Rosa had nothing to go on. Added to that complication was the fact that possession was not as obvious a feeling as she'd have expected it should be. Rather the spirit nestled inside her like another organ. Finding it was like trying to isolate her kidneys or her liver when they were healthy and not giving her the slightest grief. As such, she found it surprisingly difficult to answer Solas' question quickly.

"I'm not sure." Screwing up her face, she focused inward and tried to summon emotions Rogathe had usually blocked while it resided within her: grief, despair, hopelessness… But Solas' gaze on her, whole and free, with the birds serenading overhead in the sunshine, set her heart pounding with the very opposites of those emotions. Apparently Rogathe did nothing to block romantic love because that was what swelled inside her chest now, filling it to bursting.

"What is so amusing?" Solas asked her, a slight smile spreading over his lips.

She laughed, her breath fogging around her, not realizing she'd been smiling. Instead of waste time on words she reached out to him, gripping the collar of his robes in her hand and tugging him close to kiss. The warmth of his lips was almost scalding after the deep, prolonged cold of the air. He responded with ardor, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against him, their bodies scraping on the bed of pine needles. The scent of wood smoke still clung to their skin and robes, but beneath it she could smell the musk of his natural fragrance, taste it on his lips and in his mouth.

"I love you," she said between sloppy, passionate kisses. _"Vhenan."_

He broke the kiss, lifting his head to nibble instead at her ear. "Don't you mean flat-ear?" he teased, his hot breath sending shivers of delight through her.

"No," she said, turning her head to look him square in the eye, smiling brightly. "I mean _vhenan._ " Her hand on his chest opened to release the fabric of his robes and lay flat over his heart instead. She nuzzled close to his jaw and then his lips, sharing the same air, hot and moist as it fanned over her skin. "I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing, Rosa." Solas smiled at her tender and with a touch of sadness in his blue eyes that seemed to scratch at Rosa's heart, but she couldn't focus on the emotion through the joy of being free and in his arms.

"I do," she insisted. "I owe you everything."

He frowned briefly. "You and Rogathe saved _me_ ," he told her firmly. "We would not have escaped—and with the orb, no less—without your action in conjunction with the spirit's."

"Just take the compliment, _vhenan."_ Clucking her tongue, Rosa rolled her body weight forward, pressing Solas down onto his back in the bed of pine needles and laying overtop of him. His face as he gazed up at her held something akin to trepidation as well as excitement. "I can't remember saving you—or _us_ —so really, I still owe you my life."

She paused a moment, feeling his warm body beneath her, including the faint vibration of his heart, which seemed to be pounding as fiercely as her own. Then she said, "Let me join you. Whatever plans you have with your friends from uthenera, let me help."

He winced, blue eyes darting away for a second and Rosa's heart clenched in her chest. "Please," she said. "I already know so much about Elvhenan because of Ivun. Whatever secrets there still are, I don't care. I want to stay with you, even if you still serve Mythal."

Solas closed his eyes, his face turned away from her. His nostrils flared and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard. "I cannot make this decision now, Rosa."

She frowned, irritated at his evasion. "Why not?"

Rolling his head to face her once more, Solas swallowed again. His blue eyes were sad. "I must…consider the ramifications."

Rosa's throat felt tight, as if trying to close. She focused on breathing for a few moments, taking in the cold air and letting it out in steady exhalations of fog. Finally she said, "You have to ask _her_ , don't you? Mythal." She grimaced at the way her voice growled out that particular Creator's name.

Oddly, however, Solas' expression warped with something unreadable that _might_ have been confusion, but then he became impassive again. "Yes," he answered her, a somber note in his voice.

Except that was a lie. She forced herself not to show that she knew it, _felt_ it with Dirthamen's gift. Sporadic as it was, it had worked decidedly well just now. Early during their interactions in the tower, Rosa had known Solas lied repeatedly thanks to this gift. It was what had given her the confidence to come forward first with the confession regarding her Elvhen ancestry.

Letting a coy smile play over her lips, Rosa lowered her head to speak almost against his skin. "When will you let me know?" she asked, whispering.

His hand rose to stroke her hair. "Soon. But we must be on our way. We are still too close to the tower for my comfort."

"We're going to meet up with Tal?" she guessed. "Or your flirty friend who rescued him? The one with the Antivan sounding name?"

"Zevanni," Solas told her with a chuckle. "Yes."

She smirked. "Well then, I suppose we should get going before we get _too_ comfortable in this position—me on top of you and all."

"My thoughts exactly, _vhenan."_ She rolled away from him and got to her feet, watching as he did the same. She kept the smile on her face despite the anxious twist of her stomach and the stab of dread and pain in her heart. If Mythal didn't forbid him from taking lovers or bondmates, what was holding him back?

* * *

With magic to keep them warm, Solas and Rosa made good time trekking through the wilderness. They avoided the road, hoping to escape unwanted attention as human merchants and other travelers would inevitably see their Circle robes and identify them as mages. They did not speak except for when they rested and alternated leading, always heading east.

The first night they focused on feeding themselves and recuperating for the next day's long walk. Rosa went hunting while Solas prepped a fire, gathered kindling, and cleared the thin, crusted snow away from a spot where he could easily construct a simple lean-to. He had not finished laying boughs and brush for the makeshift shelter when Rosa returned with two rabbits slung over her shoulder.

Solas' mouth watered and his stomach gnawed at itself with impatience at the sight of her catch. She smiled at him with no small amount of pride as she moved out of the gloom, her feet crunching on the snow and then the grit as she moved to the dry dirt beside the fire. Laying the rabbits down, she grabbed the filed down butter knife she'd carried with her from the Circle and stabbed it through the rabbit's skin in a precise spot. Recognizing the skinning technique, Solas moved to sit at her side. "Let me help, _vhenan."_

Rosa's hands stilled on the rabbit, which Solas noticed had been killed with lightning or fire, charring its fur and skin. She smirked at him. "Really?"

Bemused at her reaction, Solas frowned. "It will be faster if I help you."

She snorted. "Well, yes, but…" Her eyes narrowed critically. "Do you know how?"

"Of course," Solas replied, mildly irritated at her disbelief. She handed him the rabbit and he gripped it, forcing his fingers through the spot she had skewered and tearing at just the right angle that the skin pulled free from the meat cleanly. Grabbing a long stick, he began to prepare it for roasting over the fire—only to stop as he felt Rosa's curious stare on him. "What is it?"

She shook her head, the coy smile spreading over her lips. "I didn't think a noble of Arlathan would know how to do this sort of thing."

"I was a general," Solas told her blankly, still mildly insulted at her ongoing disbelief. "I fail to understand why my proficiency with staying alive in the wilderness is so baffling."

"It's just my—" She broke off, sighing. "The Keeper who recorded stories about my ancestor, Ivun, said he was…clueless." She shrugged. "He couldn't tell elfroot from itchweed and it was obvious he'd never skinned an animal in his life. He was a pampered noble."

Solas' ministrations preparing the rabbit had long since stopped, his hunger forgotten as he realized she was talking about Felassan. Raised in Mythal's court as one of her immediate descendants—regardless of whether that'd been true or not—Felassan had indeed been a pampered noble. He had ordered slaves about, dallied with serving girls, and played the courtly game of intrigue in Arlathan. He had spent some time on campaigns in the wilds with Solas later in his life, but even then he'd been in positions where he didn't prepare or catch food. _Of course_ Felassan had woken amongst Rosa's clan knowing nothing of the basic skills the Dalish prized for their very survival.

Struggling to remain impassive rather than reveal the pain and grief he felt in his chest, Solas forced himself to smile. "I did not indulge in such luxury. My place was on the battlefield, primarily."

"But you sound cultured. You _act_ cultured," Rosa insisted.

Now Solas chuckled and resumed working on the rabbit. "Elvhenan was a more cultured place than modern Thedas," he revealed and cut her a grave look. "Never mistake fine words and manners for pacifism, _vhenan._ Mythal was a creature of infinite grace, eloquent and wise, but she would not hesitate to tear her enemies apart, limb from limb, without any warning." Knowing she believed he served Mythal, he let real admiration color his words and saw the way Rosa's expression hardened as she heard it.

With a grunt, she skinned her own rabbit and snatched up a similar stick to skewer it for cooking over the fire. "I suppose we all seem like a bunch of boors in comparison."

"At times, yes," Solas replied, chuckling. "Particularly a few vile Templars we had the dubious pleasure of meeting in Hasmal. But in truth, Elvhenan had plenty of _boors_ as you put it as well."

She chuckled but didn't reply. They continued working on the rabbits until Solas finished his and it over the fire. A moment later Rosa did the same. They washed their hands in snow from nearby and then sat together to watch the moisture drip from the rabbit meat into the flames, the aroma slowly driving Solas mad with anticipation. He had not eaten since the bread at lunch the day before last.

"Have you felt Rogathe?" Solas asked, making conversation.

"No," she answered, snuggling into him. "I think it returned to the Fade. Much easier this time than last." She laughed dryly.

Solas ran his hands through her messy hair, avoiding snags and spots where her braiding or knots hadn't come undone. "Did you intend to kill Ser Curtis?"

She sighed and, peeking down at where she nestled against his chest, Solas saw her eyes had drifted shut. "No," she admitted quietly. "I knew Rogathe wouldn't know the difference between a dream and reality if I managed it well. So I fought his sleeping self in a dream, but…I didn't know he would die in reality."

Nodding, Solas rested his chin atop her head, his eyes locked on the fire. "I suspected as much. You said you had a mentor. Another Dreamer. He was the one who should have taught you this…unless he did not know himself." But of course, if her mentor had been who he thought it was, he _had_ known. Still stroking her hair, idly caressing her ear occasionally, he added, "You may fight others in dreams without killing them if you do not _will_ them to perish. Do you understand?"

"I think so," she murmured.

He wanted to question her further about this mentor, but he suspected it had been her father. Persisting too much in that line of questioning would merely annoy her or rouse her suspicions. So, instead, they sat in companionable silence, watching the fire and eagerly waiting for the rabbits to finish cooking. When that moment at last arrived they ate quickly, perhaps too fast as Solas found he burned his mouth on the boiling juices trapped inside the flesh. Popping mouthfuls of clean snow into their mouths to ease thirst, they bedded down in the lean-to, keeping one another warm and sleeping through the night.

The next day and the one following it were much the same as they traveled ever east, hunting along the way and keeping one another warm and comfortable. Solas woke at dawn the morning of their fourth day journeying to find Rosa straddling him, her hands on his chest and his robes opened. Her lips were hot against his skin, her breath rasping and thick as she kissed and licked her way up from his chest to his neck and then his jawline and ear. Her magic swam over his skin, as warm and luxuriant as any fire.

He had flip-flopped constantly in his mind regarding this relationship—sex in particular—over the last few days since learning who her father was and speaking with Rogathe. One moment as they trudged across the endless rolling hills, grasslands, and sporadic woods covering the Free Marches he would decide to rebuff her and end things. The next moment he'd selfishly recall the thrill of her warm body over his, or her cries of pleasure, and realize he had zero chance of restraining himself should she make a move on him. At night he would hold her close and inwardly despair at the thought that soon he would have to leave her, never experience this quiet, comforting joy again. And then, a heartbeat later, she would laugh or say something witty and he'd resolve to continue the relationship somehow despite the dangers of doing so.

So it was that when he woke to her seduction, he made no effort to resist. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, fingers finding bare skin where she had opened her robes, and teased her with the caress of spirit magic honed into raw pleasure. The sultry moan this earned him set his heart racing and had him hard in an instant. When her lips crashed against his, any chance of restraint had long since evaporated, as tenuous as Fade ether.

He despised himself for it afterward, appalled at his lack of self-discipline. Yet the thought of leaving her made him feel like one of the rabbits they gutted and cooked over their campfires. It was agonizing, a harder decision than realizing he must lock away the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones. He spent their fourth day of traveling vacillating between maintaining the relationship and ending it, as well as struggling with the frustrating, greedy thought that kept recurring—mainly that with such a short, brutish life ahead of him, tormenting himself by denying the pleasure of her company and affection was plain masochism.

It was that last thought that prompted him to reach for her that night, slipping a hand warmed by the fire under her robes to caress up her calf to her knee and lower thigh. When her violet eyes found his, dark and smoldering with arousal, he pulled her to him for a passionate kiss. As always, she reacted eagerly, almost aggressively, and mere minutes later they were making love feverishly beside the fire, their cries of pleasure disturbing the otherwise silent night.

Afterward, as he held her tight to him, feeling the sweat slick on her back complete with grit and pine needles from their not quite literal roll in the "hay," Rosa whispered a question against his neck: "You're going to leave me, aren't you?"

Through his thick thoughts and slow mind, hazy from both fatigue and post-sex euphoria, Solas winced and decided to tell the truth…some of it, anyway. "For a time, _vhenan._ There are tasks I must do and you cannot accompany me."

Her voice was forlorn and pained as she asked, "Why not?"

"You would not be safe," he told her. It was the truth, though not in a way she'd anticipate. The danger she'd face would be _him._

"Nugshit," she snorted, nuzzling his jawline.

" _Ir abelas,_ " he apologized, letting out a long, sad sigh. "But it is the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not."

Her body had tensed against his. Her hand splayed over his chest curled up into a fist, though it wasn't a tight one. "You'll return to me? You'll find me in the dreaming?"

Now he turned slightly, dislodging her from his shoulder and chest as he took up her hand that'd curled into a fist and brought it to his lips. Staring at her, he said, "Yes, _vhenan"_

"When?" she asked, her eyes dark and somber, troubled. "How long, Solas?"

"Six months," he replied after swiftly estimating how long it might take for him to reach Orlais and obtain the passphrase with the help of his arcane warriors, Mathrel and Lyris now that they had awakened. Part of him knew he would never honor what he told her. The guilt that rode him was too heavy yet, having killed Felassan only to find out he had been having sex with his closest friend's daughter and _this_ was not what Felassan had apparently wanted for his children. Rosa could never be truly happy with him. Solas would never be the stable bond partner she needed to hunt for her and father her children. He could not give her that life of peace.

 _This is wrong,_ that place inside of him railed and raged. _She will hate you for misleading her._

But she would be safe and free. And, one day, when this world was at the brink of destruction, Solas would save her life alongside Tal. They could despise him, call him evil if they liked—but they would _live._ Solas could not give her that life of peace, but he _would_ ensure she survived, immortal and free.

"That's an eternity," she said, smiling tightly. "You'll find someone else." Her jaw squared. "Just like my father did when he left my mother."

Solas stared at her, pain warping his expression just as it twisted his heart. He wanted to tell her that her father had been driven from her mother by _his_ orders, but couldn't reveal it. Neither could he try to reassure her that he had always been chaste compared with Felassan, accustomed as he was to long periods of abstinence as he wandered the wilds and lead the rebellion. Felassan had always been more of a networker, gregarious where Solas was reserved. Telling her such things would expose the fact that he knew her father and knew him well.

The best he could do was to cup her cheek with one hand and try to reassure her with a tender smile. " _Vhenan,_ I am not your father. I have taken lovers idly before, in my youth, and I found little joy in it." He swallowed, his throat bobbing, emotion making it feel uncomfortably tight as he admitted, "I do not call you _vhenan_ lightly. You are the first, in fact."

Now she arched both eyebrows, lips parting with obvious surprise. "How can that be true?" she asked, shaking her head. Her eyes glinted in the glitter of orange light from the campfire.

He smiled, letting his melancholy show through it, moving his hand to caress her ear and then her neck gently. "I've told you I served as a general. My life was not one that allowed for emotional entanglement, nor did the court of Arlathan encourage true attachment."

Now Rosa's expression warped with pain. "That sounds…terrible. Lonely."

"Yes," he agreed and his throat closed, refusing to let him speak more for fear he would reveal too much.

"And…wherever you're going, whatever you're doing…" Rosa frowned, her eyes crinkling with sympathy. "It's going to be that lonely for you again?"

"Yes," he replied and his voice croaked humiliatingly. He swallowed, trying to wet his throat.

She pressed forward, kissing him fiercely for a long moment before she pulled away enough to say, "Then hurry back to me, _vhenan,_ because I cannot bear the thought of you miserable and alone like that." She nibbled at his chin, tender and teasing at once. "I'll be waiting for you."

He hummed in his throat, deep with satisfaction and warmth. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan."_

"And I love you, too," she said, her breath hot in his ear. Her hand trailed down his chest and over his belly, making him inhale sharply with pleasure. Her fist curled around his length, fast hardening. The desire darkening her eyes made his blood race, burning hot with renewed arousal. "And if I only have a few more days with you, I intend to spend them making naughty memories to last me through the next six months."

Laughing with delight, Solas reached for her, pulling her into another passionate kiss. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her with him and tried not to wonder how he would live without her.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

Solas chuckled, idly stroking up and down her back. "I believe we may have alerted the entire clan as to the nature of our relationship."

"What?" she asked, nuzzling his jawline and then his ear. "No sound dampening spell this time?" she purred, mouthing his earlobe and grinning when he shivered. "If I didn't know better I'd think that now that our lives aren't at risk you _wanted_ to be overheard."

With a low noise in the back of his throat, Solas said, "Perhaps."

* * *

A/N: This chapter was *kinda* NSFW, but since it wasn't explicit scene and more like summary, I didn't include the warning. Sorry, ya'll! Next chapter, though, will be totes NSFW!

So here we are. This was an important chapter for its chance to explain Felassan through Rogathe. One more chapter now and then the epilogue.

   
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	35. The Lonely Wolf (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briala: You once told me that tattoos upon my face didn't make me a true elf.  
> Felassan: I was being polite.
> 
> "I saw a fire that burned brightly already…and would burn itself out if left unchecked. I merely offered guidance."—Felassan (The Masked Empire)
> 
> Solas and Rosa reach clan Manaria, reuniting with Tal. Everything should be happy, but Solas isn't about to let a little thing called love stop him from redeeming himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NSFW! Explicit chapter!

"Welcome to clan Manaria," a familiar voice called out somewhere ahead through the silent trees.

Hearing it, Rosa lifted her head from scanning the game trail for snares or traps she and Solas might set off, and grinned. "Tal?" she shouted. Beyond, around a bend in the path but still visible through the leafless trees, she saw her younger brother standing beside an unfamiliar elven woman with gray hair.

Solas looked up as well, pausing just behind her, his footsteps soft and near-soundless on the snow and leaf litter. His dexterity and familiarity with the woods and nature had been a surprising detail—and a real boon. He'd been rusty at hunting so he usually allowed her to perform that function, but he had aided her preparing meals, locating edible plants when they came across them, and knew how to craft makeshift shelters. Even his tracking and navigation skills were sharp enough to impress her. Had they met one another outside the Circle, and without her truthsaying gift, Rosa probably would have believed his original tale about being a wandering half-Dalish apostate.

" _Asamalin,"_ Tal shouted to her, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome, despite the significant distance still between himself and Rosa.

Laughing, Rosa cast a quick look over her shoulder to Solas to see him smiling, then sprinted forward through the thin layer of crusted snow. Tal moved forward to do the same and they met halfway, throwing their arms around one another for a bear hug. When they parted, Rosa sensed the other Dalish hunters of this clan lingering nearby in the trees, watching in silence—but she didn't care. The sight of Tal in Keeper's armor had her grinning openmouthed as her eyes stung with emotion and her chest swelled with pride.

Gripping his shoulders, she gave him a little shake. "Look at you, _isamalin!_ You look so grown up!"

Tal snorted at her, rolling his eyes. His cheeks were red with a blush. "It's the armor. Underneath it I'm still the same rapscallion."

Suddenly remembering his broken collarbone, Rosa gasped and pulled her hands from his shoulders as if he'd burned her. "Is your collarbone better?" she asked.

He shrugged, a sheepish look flashing over his features. "It's a bit tender, but Zevanni healed it before she left."

"She left?" Rosa asked, arching both eyebrows with surprise. She pinched her lips together, considering that. Solas hadn't wanted Tal to know Zevanni was his friend and had rescued him because he'd asked on Rosa's behalf. She sighed with regret and said, "That's too bad. I'd have liked to have met her so I could thank her for saving you." She reached up and ruffled Tal's messy, black curls. He grumbled and jerked his head away from her.

"Hands off, _mamae,"_ he whined, smirking.

" _Someone_ has to look after you," Rosa retorted, cuffing him on the bicep on his left side—his good side, she knew.

Tal chuckled good-naturedly and then his brown eyes moved stare behind her. Rosa twisted slightly to see Solas approaching. His normal catlike grace had a stiffness to it that made her throat tighten with gloom as she remembered that he wouldn't be with her much longer.

They'd prolonged their journey across the Free Marches to reach Tal's clan from about six days to eight by stopping more often than necessary and slowing their pace. They'd not discussed that as a plan of action, but neither was in a hurry to reach this place. Their nights had been spent together cuddling, talking, or making love. Every night Rosa had steeled herself to tell him of her true heritage; to trust him completely, regardless of the danger it posed. Yet each night the words stuck in her throat as fear held them back. She'd tried to summon her father to her in the Fade repeatedly, hoping to consult him on how dangerous it was to reveal herself to one of Mythal's generals, but he was nowhere to be found. She had begun to worry that he truly was dead, though she pushed that prospect away in favor of focusing on her remaining time with Solas.

"Revas," Tal greeted him with a warm smile. "It's good to see you!"

"And you, _falon,_ " Solas replied, nodding. "You look well. The armor suits you."

"I'm to be First," Tal said, beaming as he glanced between Rosa and Solas.

"I suspected as much," Solas said, still smiling. "And it is well-earned and long in coming."

" _Ma serannas,"_ Tal said, grinning a moment before his lips formed an O shape and he pivoted to gesture at the gray-haired hunter behind him. "Where are my manners? This is War-Leader Lanatriel. She leads the hunters…" Spreading his arms, Tal indicated the elves nearby, standing alert and silent to the right and left of the path. "Lanatriel, this is Rosa, my older sister and Revas, from the Circle."

Lanatriel stepped forward, ducking her head in a show of respect toward Rosa and Solas. "Greetings." She smiled; warm but reserved. Rosa could sense the residual sadness lingering with this clan and knew from speaking to Tal that they had lost as many as a third of their members. Grief still affected them, but they had been warm and welcoming to Tal and to Solas' friends once they were certain they weren't a threat. To survive, this clan would need to adapt and would likely even be open to adopting flat-ears to replenish their numbers. Tal's upbeat presence might be enough to start them healing…hopefully.

" _Aneth ara,"_ Rosa said, returning the war-leader's friendly smile. "And you have my thanks for taking in Tal."

"It has been our pleasure," Lanatriel answered, shooting Tal an amused look. "Our Keeper has been immensely grateful for his presence."

"It helps that I know how to hunt too," Tal said, smirking as he indicated the bow slung over his shoulder where a stave would've normally been. "That's why I'm so popular."

"Come along," Lanatriel said to them, motioning at the path. "I will lead the way."

They set out, following the path and gradually nearing the dull roaring sigh of a waterfall. After a few minutes the path curled and, through the leafless trees and saplings in the underbrush, at last revealed a deep, circular depression. It was a cliff, undercut by ages of dripping water. The brook cascaded over the edge and into the crater-like depression, flowing off along rocks into pools downstream. The clan's aravels had been setup along the banks just a short ways from the waterfall.

The path was muddy and narrow as they circled round, making their way down. Mist rose from the falls, hovering in the air and masking the sight and smell of the Dalish hearth fires. Rosa saw racks where fish had been filleted out and left to dry. Nets had been gathered and folded alongside the river as well. The halla herd wasn't in sight, likely it was downstream in the nearest meadow where the animals could graze.

Though the sun still lit the trees above the depression, within it the cliff walls cast a shadow, shrouding the Dalish camp in darkness. Tal, Lanatriel, and the handful of other hunters brought Rosa and Solas to a young woman dressed in Keeper's robes. As they drew closer, feet squelching through the mud and clattering on the river rocks, Rosa saw the Keeper wore June's vallaslin, drawn in a fine hand. She was pretty as she smiled and her dark blue eyes followed Tal with appreciation.

Rosa restrained the desire to chuckle and roll her eyes at the sight. _Of course,_ she thought. Tal had a way of catching _everyone's_ eye, apparently.

" _Andaran atish'an,"_ the Keeper greeted them with a warm smile. Her gaze skipped almost dismissively over Solas to land on Rosa and stay there. "You are Tal's sister?" she asked. "Former First of another clan?"

"Yes," Rosa replied with a nod. "I was born to clan Naseral in the Brecilian Forest."

"The Brecilian?" the Keeper asked, her eyes widening. "That's so far away!"

"Yeah," Tal chimed in from his spot standing at the Keeper's side. "You can say that again, _hahren._ And she went the long way round the Waking Sea, she didn't cross it."

The Keeper shook her head, impressed and yet clearly bemused. "All that distance and you never encountered a clan that could take you in?"

"I wasn't seeking a clan at first," Rosa admitted with a shrug as she looked to Tal and smiled. "I was looking to travel with Tal so we could find a clan together."

"And now we've found it," Tal said, laughing before shooting the Keeper a nervous look. "I mean, assuming you—"

"I wouldn't impose myself on this clan," Rosa interrupted, ducking in a respectful motion as she eyed the Keeper, sensing the other woman's hesitation. "I believe Tal should remain your First." Gesturing with one hand to Solas, who had remained silent at her side throughout this exchange, she said, "I may journey next with Revas." Glancing at him, she smiled and he returned it—though it appeared wan.

"If that is your wish," the Keeper said, nodding. "Regardless, I am happy to share our resources and our aravels while you stay with us, however long that may be."

" _Ma serannas, hahren,"_ Rosa said, making a greater show of obeisance to the Keeper now. She heard Solas' robes rustle and river rocks clatter gently as he too bent at the waist to show his gratitude.

"You can stay in my aravel," Tal suggested brightly.

"Very well," the Keeper said and spread her arms. "You've come just in time. We are about to have our evening meal. Please join us."

"Thank you," Rosa said and Solas murmured in the same vein. "We'd love to."

* * *

Despite the sad report Zevanni had given Solas regarding the Manaria clan, he saw only friendly smiles as they ate and chatted together around the largest central hearth fire. The meal was of salted, dried fish with mushrooms and wild grains that'd been soaked and then toasted over the fire. After days of eating rabbit with Rosa, Solas' taste buds seemed to explode at the taste of the fish, mushrooms, and grains. And, although he couldn't stop the lingering burn of resentment still inside him when he saw the way the Dalish mostly ignored him—because he was merely a _flat-ear_ , after all—he was truly grateful for their hospitality.

At least right up until they began to share stories of their pantheon. The clan's elder had a scratchy voice that cracked periodically as he launched into a tale about the Dread Wolf and the courser. It was meant to be a humorous or touching story about the old dog's faithfulness to his elven master as he chased off the Dread Wolf, biting the evil god's tail clean off. Yet, listening to it, Solas could not will himself to dredge up a feigned smile and simply sat brooding until, after the conclusion of the elder's tale, Solas rose wordlessly and walked away from the firelight, determined to be alone.

Somewhere over the course of dinner Rosa had slipped away from him to speak with the Keeper in private. Now Solas wandered along the river, meandering through the aravels and listening for any hint of her voice. His heart ached as he realized this might be his last night with her.

He left the aravels without hearing Rosa's voice and, sighing, moved to where a calmer eddy in the river would let him kneel to wash his face without risking the errant splash onto his robes. Dropping to his knees with a grunt, he cupped water in his hands and scrubbed at his face and then his scalp. Water dribbled down his neck and made him shudder, grimacing at the chill.

When he felt clean enough, Solas dug into his robes and pulled out his orb. It was dark gray, glinting along the grooves in the light from the moon. The magic inside tickled at his fingertips, reacting to his presence as it recognized its master. He sighed, rubbing a hand over it, feeling the ridges. Despite his increasing strength since waking he knew he had no chance of safely unlocking it. How long would it take him to recover enough that such a thing would be possible? Would he _ever_ be able to manage it?

Hearing a wave of uproarious laughter from the hearth fire, Solas tucked the orb back into his robes and considered the report he'd received from Zevanni a few days prior. She'd said there was a Dalish clan in need of a First near Wycome. Solas had sent her scouting for other Dalish clans in the area, ordering her to make contact and learn a few things about them quickly before leaving again. He needed to know where Rosa would eventually settle so that he could find her again to save her when he tore down the Veil.

…Or if he gave in to weakness and sought her out as his lover, the way he'd promised he would during their journey across the Free Marches. Shamefully, Solas couldn't bring himself to dismiss that as an option. It was easier to bear leaving her if he could delude himself into believing he would rejoin her.

His cheeks burned red with self-recrimination as he felt the warmth of love grip his heart in its tight hold. It was as piercing as an arrow, and it would leave a wound no magic—save that from blood—could heal. His eyes stung and he sniffed, swallowing the emotion down, refusing to let it show.

" _Ir abelas, vhenan,"_ he whispered, his breath fogging in the cold air. But there was no one to hear his apology except the babbling river and the fish sleeping under its gurgling waters.

As soon as he left this clan, Solas would be alone once more, aside from the thin comfort of his agents. The thought left him cold to the bone and, determined to punish himself, Solas didn't draw magic to ward it away. He knew he wouldn't be able to rebuff Rosa if they had a moment alone again tonight. He just couldn't seem to resist. Best punish himself now with a little cold, as if that could freeze out his libido and dull his desire for Rosa. His wanton behavior with her during their journey had been bad enough, completely irresponsible. He had become a glutton, craving the sight of her, the feel of her, and the sound of her voice and laughter.

_Fenedhis,_ he cursed and covered his face with his hands. _How will I endure without her?_

* * *

Rosa clutched the leather pouch the Keeper had given her tightly in her left hand as she strode for the aravel Tal had told her was his. Most of the clan, including Tal, was still gathered about the hearth fire. The elder's raspy voice chatted on, animated and lively despite his age. She smiled, thinking of Tal and his gift for storytelling fondly.

Her heart was warm with pride for her little brother, finally in a place that would appreciate him. The Keeper, by the name of Nolava, had expressed her gratitude that Rosa didn't wish to settle in this clan. Nolava had felt she would be obligated to renege on Tal's position as First and offer it to Rosa if she had asked to stay. This way Tal kept his newfound position as First and Rosa was free to leave at any time she wished, whether it was at Solas' side as she truly wanted or to another clan in the Free Marches.

At Tal's aravel, Rosa ducked inside the entrance and rummaged about, searching for a pot she could use to boil water for tea. Tal had an assemblage of weapons, staves, pelts, and tattered books lying about, unorganized and scattered. She hesitated as she saw some of the runes on the old books, recognizing them as elven and common. Smiling fondly, she brushed her fingers over the elven characters, recalling her own lessons at her mother's side. Only Keepers and their apprentices learned the secret of reading and writing elven, but Rosa had defied that tradition by teaching Tal. Of course, it'd been their father who first broke that Dalish law. Rosa had simply continued it because she fully expected that someday, somewhere, and somehow Tal would become First.

And now, at long last, he had. _"Ar lath ma, isamalin,"_ she murmured, shaking her head as she laughed to herself. Looking around the aravel, seeing the mess, she puffed out her cheeks and decided she would clean it. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, she would find that pot for her tea.

Tucking the leather pouch into her robes, Rosa sprang to work. She snatched up the pelts, folded them, and piled them atop the small platform on one end of the aravel. She leaned the stave, the bows, the arrow quiver, and the daggers on the opposite side of the aravel and then stacked the books atop the pelts. She found some clothes and armor as well, smelling musty.

"Really, Tal?" she asked the darkness, groaning. "Dirty clothes?" She shoved those toward the weapons, carelessly. And that was when, finally, she saw cooking utensils. "Aha," she said, snatching up the pot. "Found you."

A shadow moved at the entrance to the aravel, obscuring what little light she had to see by from the hearth fire some distance away. Rosa turned to look and saw Solas' distinctive, smooth head ducking through the opening. _"Vhenan,"_ he said, breath fogging. "Did your visit with the Keeper go well?"

She stiffened at the question, her breath halting for a moment with alarm and embarrassment. He hadn't somehow guessed, had he? The leather pouch in her robes seemed to transform into a leaden weight before she pushed her initial reaction aside. Solas was making idle conversation only. She was glad it was too dark for him to see the blush stealing over her cheeks.

"Yep," she answered flippantly. "Well enough, anyway."

He nodded, shuffling his way deeper into the aravel and sitting on the wooden floor, legs crossed. In this new position the faint orange light from the distant hearth fire outside lit one half of his face, making one blue eye glint. His features warped with despair as he looked at her across the intimate space of the aravel and Rosa felt her stomach clench with dread. "I must leave here in the morning," he murmured softly, sounding as though he discussed his own death rather than a mere departure. _"Ir abelas…"_

"I guessed as much," Rosa answered, forcing herself to remain as impassive as possible. She managed to find a smile anyway, somehow. "But you'll be back and we can find each other in the dreaming."

"Yes," he agreed, though his smile was wan.

Rosa's gift didn't prod her one way or another, though she tried to summon it anyway. Fickle, as usual. Solas could be entirely truthful now or this could be just a lie to pacify her. Yet, whatever dragged him from her, Rosa had no doubt he loved her. The emotion in his face and that had leached from him in the Fade during their shared dreams had been unmistakable.

She swallowed, finding a painful lump had thickened her throat and her voice. "I'm going to miss you."

"And I will miss you as well," Solas told her, the sadness in his eyes stabbing at Rosa like needles. Dropping his gaze down to the small space between them, Solas said, "There is a chance I may not be able to return to you." His voice croaked slightly as he spoke and his features wrinkled with difficulty. "The task before me may claim my life."

"Then let me come with you," Rosa blurted, edging closer as her heart drummed against her breastbone with new determination. "Please, _vhenan…"_

He shook his head. "I cannot. You are safer here, among the Dalish." He drew in a soft breath, still not meeting her eyes. "I have had word from Zevanni regarding the nearby clans. There are two that she has made contact with who were in need of a First and would happily take you in. It is far safer than making the journey south to the Brecilian Forest."

Rosa clenched her jaw, fighting to ignore the mounting pain in her heart as the certainty grew within her that she would never see Solas again. Her gift had remained dormant, so she knew nothing with certainty, but she had always suspected Solas would behave like her father when he escaped the tower. Some greater responsibility had hounded Eolas too, driving him to leave clan Naseral as soon as he was strong enough physically to journey. Apparently his destination had been Orlais, because only a few short years later he had rescued clan Ghilath from nobles hunting them and sired Tal in the process.

The leather pouch seemed to burn inside her robes. _I am not going to be like my mother,_ she thought. She should tell him, say _something._ It could make him stay; ensure he returned occasionally just as her father had. _No,_ she thought. If Solas would not stay or return to her without some overarching duty she would just be repeating her mother's mistakes. _There's nothing to tell him._ She forced thoughts of it away.

At her silence Solas went on: "There is a clan near Wycome, by the name of Lavellan. It is prosperous and trades often with the _shemlen._ There is another near Ostwick—"

Rosa interrupted him by lifting one hand, palm out. "I don't need you to list them off, Solas. I spoke to the Keeper about the other clans around the Free Marches already."

He nodded, smiling with approval. "Very prudent of you," he told her quietly as he met her gaze again at last, a slight glimmer of playfulness in his eyes that became something tender. "I admire your survivor's spirit."

"Oh?" she asked, tabling the sadness inside in favor of the tight coil of want spreading through her, all heat and vertigo. She moved forward, shuffling on her knees over the wooden bottom of the aravel. "I've got a lot more than just my spirit for you to admire."

Solas chuckled, though his lips twisted downward. "Your spirit is far more important than your physical aspects," he told her, seriously. But the glint of amusement and arousal was impossible to miss as he added, "Though I will admit to enjoying those physical aspects as important side-benefits."

Crawling into his lap, Rosa straddled his hips though it hiked her robes up and stretched them tight, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I'll show you side benefits, _flat-ear,"_ she teased and kissed him, hard.

Solas reacted with ardor, his arms curling around her—one on her back and the other dropping low to her ass. Their time with one another in the wilds had made them familiar with one another's robes and Rosa's fingers swiftly opened his neckline to slip her fingers in to feel his chest. He gasped against her lips, then surged forward once more to taste her deeply with his tongue. Taunting him, Rosa pulled back to bite at his lips as one hand scratched down his back and the other ran along his flat abdomen as low as she could go before running into his belt.

" _Vhenan,"_ he groaned the term of endearment, kissing her jawline and then her neck, his breath fast and hot on her skin. She pressed closer, arching her back to encourage him as his fingers opened her collar and then the front of her robes, sliding greedily in to tease her nipples. Her stomach fluttered and the ache between her legs grew in intensity, delicious and maddening.

Through lidded eyes, she saw the small platform where she'd piled Tal's pelts and books and sighed, long and heavy, as she tried to extricate herself from Solas' caresses. "Over there," she told him breathlessly. "Under the furs."

Solas blinked, seeming to recall where they were. Glancing toward the aravel's hatchway, he started to point it out to her, but Rosa crawled off his lap before he could speak. She impatiently snatched up the hatch and pulled it shut with a wooden thump. When she turned round she grinned as she saw Solas had moved to the platform and had begun to remove his belt. Laughing, Rosa moved to join him, also struggling to disrobe.

Naked, she slipped beneath the pelts. Feeling the soft fur on either side made her skin dimple with gooseflesh, though it wasn't as delightful as feeling Solas' warmth aligned with her own. As she kissed him again, finding the lingering flavor of dinner on his lips and tongue, Solas broke off briefly to say, "I doubt Tal will approve of—"

She snorted interrupting him with her laughing as she wrapped an arm around him and threw one thigh over his hips, rolling him beneath her. Staring down at his blue eyes in the near complete darkness, she said, "My little brother has zero right to complain about who I sleep with and maybe you didn't realize it, but he _adores_ you."

Solas chuckled, low and husky, as Rosa nipped at the bump in his throat and shimmied against his long body, shivering as her nipples brushed against his chest. "That was not what I was about to say."

"No?" she asked, kissing the corner of his mouth before she propped herself up and looked at him, smirking.

"No," he said, smiling mischievously as his hands trailed up and down her body under the pelts, drawing gooseflesh wherever his blunt nails traveled. "I was going to say Tal will not appreciate us…indulging ourselves in his bedding."

She wrinkled her nose and feigned a gagging noise. "Are you _trying_ to turn me off?" she asked, shaking her head. "Because, knowing Tal, the first thing he did in this aravel was _indulge_ himself."

Now Solas grimaced with a look of disgust even as he let out a strangled laugh. "I see." He lifted his head from the furs to press a kiss to her lips, his breath whistling in and out fast despite the recent topic. Rosa ground lower over his body, stretching out to feel the hot brand of his cock prodding against her sex. But as she started to lower herself onto him, one of Solas' hands gripped her thigh, halting her. Simultaneously, he rolled his hips sideways to avoid her entrance.

Before she could question him, Rosa heard a voice call out from outside the aravel and frowned, ready to groan with frustration as she recognized Tal. Solas had frozen beneath her, still breathing fast. After a second or two of silence they heard Tal shout again, "Hey! How dare you kick me out of my own aravel!"

Rosa sighed, resting her head against Solas' shoulder. Then, as Solas stirred beneath her, trying to extricate himself from their compromising position, Rosa took hold of his chin and stared down into his face through the darkness. "Don't you dare move," she warned in a low, teasing voice. Then, lifting her head and calling out to the wooden wall of the aravel, she said, "Tal—can you come back in an hour? _Please?"_

Tal heaved a long, loud groan and Rosa could imagine him rolling his eyes theatrically. "Really, _asamalin?_ " He clucked his tongue. "What would your _mamae_ have to say?"

"Yes or no?" Rosa said, smirking.

Tal blew out another breath. "Have fun, you two." The sound of his footsteps clattering on the river stones grew dimmer as he walked away.

Grinning, Rosa brushed her lips over Solas' jawline. "Now," she purred. "Where were we?"

Solas turned his head to kiss her, quick but passionate. When he broke the kiss he said, "I was about to ask you if you have ever been kissed here." One of his hands slipped between their bodies and cupped her sex.

Rosa blinked at him, startled at the prospect. "No," she said, drawing out the word in a sultry tone. "But I'd be willing to yield to your greater experience…"

He grinned and kissed her again, fording into her mouth with his tongue before pulling away and rolling to place her beneath him. Rosa shivered in the chilled air as he edged downward and off the platform, directing her to scoot close to the edge. His hands caressed her thighs on the outside first and then at the sensitive inner spots. With each pass of his blunt nails he drew closer and closer to her sex with his teasing touch before moving away again.

Rosa closed her eyes, enjoying the sensual touch, but then gasped as she felt his mouth following the same path as his hands. First up one leg and then the other, as he alternated between supple, soft lips and hot, wet tongue. Excitement curled in Rosa's belly, growing tighter as his mouth crawled higher. Her body tingled with anticipation and her hands, suddenly sweaty, grabbed at the fur on the pelts unconsciously.

And then his magic sank into her, warm and aching with raw desire, flowing from his fingers. His hands settled at the crease where her thighs joined her body, making her tingle and rock her hips, seeking more stimulation. He did not disappoint as she felt his hot mouth against her sex and choked on her next breath with shock at the powerful sensation.

Her back arched and a quick, gasping moan escaped her. Pleasure pulsed through her, running from her sex to her toes, making them curl. As his tongue flicked over her, moving in tight circles, she writhed and twitched, her head thrashing from side to side as she gnashed her teeth and tried to remain silent, dimly aware that the entirety of Manaria clan was relatively nearby. But as his tongue continued its sweeping, and magic poured from his hands, she lost her struggle and moaned his name in between ragged curses.

The climax crashed into her like a brick wall as she cried out and writhed, her hips rocking frantically and her heart hammering. The waves washed over her in pulses, snapping every muscle taut. As they subsided slightly, she felt Solas change from the stroking caress of his tongue to gentle suction as he took her into his mouth. The heat and change in sensation sent her over the top once more, moaning and writhing as she screamed out her pleasure.

Apparently taking that as his cue, Solas quickly rose and pulled her up more into a sitting position, holding her shaking, sweating body close as he slid himself inside her. The fullness of him made her gasp and squirm anew, grinding her sex over his hips and his full length. He grunted, breathy with pleasure, alternating long and short thrusts as his free hand not supporting her reached between them to rub over her, magic flowing into her flesh from his touch. His breath was hot on her neck, puffing faster and faster, picking up speed with his hips.

Rosa wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to his shoulders and rocking her hips as he thrust. Feeling herself coiling for another orgasm, Rosa tried to stifle her cries by kissing him, sloppy and feverish. He held her tighter, nipping and sucking at her lips and tongue in a way that sent her head spinning. She broke the kiss, crying out through gnashed teeth for the third time in rapid succession as the waves of pleasure broke over her.

Hips pumping, Solas gasped and grunted, driving into her harder and faster. Then, with a strangled cry, he climaxed as well. Body taut, muscles straining, and his head tossed back, Rosa felt him twitching inside her, spilling into her. Panting and sweating, he pulled her close and rolled with her, placing her on top.

They stared at one another through the darkness, the sound of their breathing filling the aravel. Then, at last, Solas let out a long breath and stretched out a hand to cup her cheek. " _Ar lath ma, vhenan."_

She clasped his hand on her cheek in her sweaty palm, smiling down at him a moment before leaning in to kiss him tenderly. When she drew backward slightly she touched her nose to his and let out a chuckle, thick and low with satisfaction. "That was spectacular."

Solas chuckled, idly stroking up and down her back. "I believe we may have alerted the entire clan as to the nature of our relationship."

"What?" she asked, nuzzling his jawline and then his ear. "No sound dampening spell this time?" she purred, mouthing his earlobe and grinning when he shivered. "If I didn't know better I'd think that now that our lives aren't at risk you _wanted_ to be overheard."

With a low noise in the back of his throat, Solas said, "Perhaps."

They lay together in silence, sated from lovemaking, until the chill made Rosa stir and snatch the fur to cover them. She snuggled close, into the crook of his arm, basking in the nearness of him and the euphoria, trying not to think about the inevitable moment when the sun would rise and she would lose Solas, possibly forever. Clinging tightly, she breathed in the scent of his sweat and male musk, a piney fragrance that warmed her from within. She tried to commit this moment to memory, to make it last an eternity, fighting the heavy lassitude of sleep as long as she could before eventually, despite her best efforts, she tumbled headfirst into the Fade anyway.

* * *

When Solas heard Rosa's breathing change into the long, even pattern of sleep, he drew mana to himself and shaped the sleeping spell out of his will. Rolling his head to stare down at her sleeping form, he caressed her hair, felt her smooth skin, and inhaled the sweet scent of her one last time. Then, clenching his jaw with determination, he kissed her gently on the lips, letting the spell pass from him and into her.

The thought of a formal goodbye the following morning was too much. It would break him. He was too weak, too raw with the memory of her. The only way he would be able to escape would be now, in the quiet of night. There would be no tears now, no pleading. It'd be easier for them both this way.

With her sleeping deeply now, Solas rose and tucked the pelts around her before dressing swiftly. He left her robes beside her on the bed platform so that she could find them swiftly when she woke. Then, ensuring the orb was secure in his robes, Solas opened the hatch to the aravel and, careful and quiet despite the sleep spell he'd used, crept from the aravel.

The clan was quiet, though a few lingered at the hearth fire, sharing stories and breaking out in occasional laughter. Tal was among them, his familiar laugh echoing from the cliff walls and the aravels. Swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat, Solas cast the stealth spell, slipping into invisibility. As silently as he could he strode out of the camp, following the river downstream.

He did not allow himself to look back.

* * *

**Epilogue Sneak Peek:**

"I can't sit here and expect he'll come back. I can't—I _won't_ let this define the rest of my life." Shivering, she blew out a breath as she noticed the tea had ceased steaming.

Following her line of sight, Tal fidgeted. "What if tonight he's in the Fade?" he asked, challenging her. "What if you have to tell him—"

"I don't have to tell him anything," Rosa grumbled, still glaring at the tea. "This is _my_ burden. It doesn't affect him at all." Scrubbing her face with her free hand not holding the pelt closed against the chill, Rosa sighed. "Keeper Nola said Lavellan clan to the west is in desperate need of a First. They haven't had one for over a decade. There's a child who may become Second, but they need someone like me. I could make a life with them and still visit you sometimes."

* * *

A/N: Oh, the angst! I know, I know. I am truly and completely evil...as is Solas, really. Dammit, Solas! I felt like, because Rosa isn't the normal "Lavellan" and this wasn't Crestwood, I wanted to make this play out differently and, to me, Solas actually displays how weak and...well, selfish he is by romancing Lavellan. Like, he knows the romance should not happen on so many levels, but he does it anyway. And, I discovered that even upon turning him down post Fade-kiss, later on the balcony, he will still bring it up. If that doesn't tell you how _badly_ he wants Lavellan, I don't know what does. The breakup in Crestwood I feel like only happened because he realized how close he was to having to either destroy the world or give up the Dread Wolf and Elvhenan. And, being selfish and masochistic, he chooses Elvhenan. But here, in this story, I wanted to change it up AND I felt like with this "Lavellan" he would be even weaker, so he doesn't go through with an actual breakup. That and he isn't on the precipice of blowing up the world just yet. There's still time to screw around...literally and figuratively.


	36. Epilogue: Tea With Tal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felassan: You have heard enough of my stories over the years, da'len. Perhaps it is time you wrote your own.  
> Briala: I'm not a god.  
> Felassan: That is for the stories to decide.
> 
> After a month with no contact from Solas, Rosa must face the awful truth: He's not coming back. Now she has a terrible choice to make.

The tea smelled not just bitter but downright repulsive. It steamed in front of her from the pot, the little bag of herbs floating in it, diffusing into the hot water. Her stomach clenched at the thought of drinking it and her eyes stung. Miserable, she huddled deeper into the bear pelt Tal had given her.

"Are you all right?" Tal asked her softly. He sat off to her right, around the fire, running a whetstone over one of his hunting daggers. The Keeper armor he wore made him appear handsome, grown and mature in a way Rosa still wasn't accustomed to yet. Someday he would make some woman in Manaria clan—likely the Keeper herself—very happy. The thought made Rosa smile, proud of him.

When she didn't answer, Tal raised his head from his work with the dagger and arched an eyebrow at her. " _Asamalin?"_

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as she averted her eyes. "The smell alone is probably going to make me throw up."

"Sorry. I'd offer to help but…" He shrugged. "Nothing I can do."

She rolled her eyes. "Duh." Narrowing her gaze at him, she bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something angry about how unfair it was that men bore so little responsibility for the consequences of sex. She knew full-well that this was her fault more than Solas'. She had never turned him away, despite knowing she had no means to protect herself against conception. When the Templars took her armor away they'd also taken her contraceptive charm that nullified male seed, created by her Keeper years ago to protect against unwanted children. In taking it they'd all but sealed her fate.

She'd hoped fortune would be on her side and had waited to brew the tea, but she had no such luck. Solas had left her in the quiet of night just over a month ago and she could no longer deny the awful truth: he wasn't going to contact her and wasn't coming back. He might even be dead. She had repeated her own family history, loving a man who had abandoned her. And, just like her mother, Rosa had foolishly let her emotion and desire rule her rather than common sense. Her reckless decision had left her with a bastard child.

Now she had a very ominous decision to make.

Her heart ached at the thought of Solas and she huffed, grimacing with the emotional pain of loss. She shivered and watched the steam rising from the pot with a bitter scowl. The herbs in that foul tea would empty her womb, forcing her to bleed. She knew from watching women of her birth clan drink the tea that this would be extremely unpleasant—but far safer than actually bearing a child. Especially a child with no father.

"You don't have to do it," Tal said as he sheathed the dagger and set it aside, next to him on the river rocks.

She glared at him. "Of course I do."

Tal's brown eyes were dark, glinting in the firelight, and crinkled with empathy. "It's Revas' right?"

Rosa stared at the fire, unwilling to meet her brother's gaze. She had been sharing his aravel since arriving a month ago. Tal and much of the clan had known or guessed she slept with Solas, making this outcome not wholly unexpected, but only Tal knew her secret. The close confines of the aravel had made it impossible for her to hide it when she scrambled to rush out and vomit in the mornings the last few days. Tal had also proven how keen-eyed and unflinching he was when he had baldly asked her if she'd bled that month. His questions had been what finally drove her to brew this tea and stop denying what was so painfully obvious and true.

" _Asamalin,"_ Tal pressed her, leaning closer by resting his elbows on his knees. The fire flickered over his features, painting him orange. "It's an elfling, not some Templar-spawn. You don't have to do this."

Rosa continued staring at the fire, jaw clenched at the curdling of low-grade nausea in her stomach. Once, when one of Rosa's friends in her birth clan fell pregnant, she'd accompanied her to the healer and listened as the old woman told her friend that miserable nausea meant the baby was strong. She wondered if that was true at all or just something healers told expectant mothers to reassure them.

"The clan here can take you in," Tal said. "I can become Second and you'll be First."

Now Rosa frowned and muttered, "Don't be naïve. Keeper Nola doesn't want to demote you. She wants to see me off to another clan. When she finds out I'm carrying a _flat-ear's_ elfling she'll be swallowing bile the whole time she feigns a smile and politely asks me to leave."

"She's not like that," Tal snapped. Scanning around the camp quickly and finding no one near enough to overhear, Tal went on, "There aren't enough elves here. They need young people our age, and fresh blood." His lips twisted up and down then, revealing he was sheepish or awkward and nervous. "And Revas, or whatever his name really is, wasn't a flat-ear, was he?"

Finally Rosa looked at her brother, her expression blank and impassive. She had sworn to keep Solas' secrets, but Tal had some of the same insight as she because of their father, another Elvhen man. She had promised…but Solas had promised to contact her, too. He could be dead but—no, not this soon. He was still traveling wherever he was and unless he'd stumbled into bandits or an angry bear or hungry wolves there was nothing that could kill him. He had been too surefooted in the wilds, despite the cold and ages asleep. No wild animals or bandits could creep up on him that easily. Besides, with the stealth spell he could just vanish and slip away.

Just as he had on their last night together.

Sighing, she said, "Think whatever you want about him. It doesn't matter."

"But it does," Tal persisted, stabbing his index finger at the ground as if pointing to what they discussed, as if it was something physical. "Something's bothered me about Revas for a while. You know, when _lenalin_ contacted me a while back and I told him about our lives in the tower, he was _really_ interested in him. It was almost like he knew him, or thought he did." Tal pinched his lips together, his gaze tense with worry. "He hasn't visited me again. I wish he would. I'd ask what he knows." He paused, eyes narrowing at her. " _You_ should ask him."

"I can't find him," Rosa admitted, shoulders slumping. "I…I think he's dead." She swallowed, her throat aching. She didn't want to think about this new loss piled atop Solas' abandonment and the awful choice ahead of her.

"I won't believe it," Tal said with a firm shake of his head. Muscles flared in his temple and Rosa didn't miss the slight wrinkle of his chin. Tal had loved Eolas more than Rosa had, having spent years knowing him as a father. Eolas had defended Tal from Ghilath's Keeper's hatred. He had been a safe place for Tal and when he left, Tal had been devastated. She imagined her little brother sitting on their father's knee, giggling and clinging to him. Her eyes stung for Tal, wishing that he had been born with their father's gift for walking the Fade that he could have pulled Eolas to him whenever he wished.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice choking. "I know you loved him."

Tal's face fell and she saw moisture glittering orange in his eyes. "You loved him too, Rosa. Don't try to deny it."

She let out a quavering breath and swallowed hard, trying to fight back that painful lump in her throat. "I wish I could say you're wrong." She chuckled, wan and dry. "But you're right."

"You know what else I'm right about?" he asked pointedly, then stabbed a finger at the tea. "That. We're a family of bastards, _asamalin._ The _shemlen_ care more than most clans do. I mean, who cares if you're not bonded? You know its blood is pure." He smirked. " _Really_ pure."

"It'll be a mage," Rosa said, averting her eyes again. "That means I can't stay here. I can't stay anywhere that has a First or a Second."

Tal snorted. "Fuck the Templars. Go back to clan Naseral. I'll make the trip with you. Your mother will take you back with open arms."

"You can't travel with me," Rosa said, shaking her head. "You're First here. This clan needs you."

"They can spare me," Tal said with a shrug. "I owe you this. You're always trying to take care of me, let me help you."

"I can't let you do that," Rosa said, frowning even as her heart both hurt and swelled with love for her little brother. "And I can't go back to Naseral. I…" She broke off, her throat threatening to close. "I want to stay in the Free Marches. I want to be close to you. I can always reach _mamae_ in dreams. If we've lost _lenalin_ then it's even more important for us to hold onto each other."

Tal cocked his head, flashing an almost sad, lopsided smile. "You're trying to take care of me, as usual. Don't try to lie. You're thinking the Formless One is going to come after me for my blood, or maybe Dirthamen's ravens will. Who knows? There's a long line of them." He smirked. "But I can take care of myself and I can handle demons."

She frowned and admonished him, "Underestimating them is the first step to falling into the trap."

He rolled his eyes, though he still smiled, only mildly annoyed. "Yes, _mamae._ "

The term made her groan, laying a hand over her abdomen under the bear pelt she held clasped around her shoulders. Her eyes stung and her stomach churned as she stared down at the tea. "I have to do this," she muttered, returning to the original topic. "I refuse to be my mother. If the man I love won't stay with me for me I'd be a fool to tie myself to him with a child."

"Your mother never stopped loving _lenalin,_ did she?" Tal asked with a sympathetic look.

"No," Rosa said quietly. "I don't think she ever did. But she did try to keep him away from me. I think she was just bitter about it."

"You can say that again," Tal grumbled. "That was why she wouldn't take me in after he left my clan. She didn't want _lenalin's_ other lover's child, even if you liked me."

"I want my children to know their father," Rosa said and suddenly, to her shame, she felt her eyes fill with tears. "I don't want any children of mine to grow up like we did." Her throat convulsed and she made a strangled noise. "He isn't coming back, _isamalin._ He promised he would find me in the dreaming and…"

Tal nodded, his brows lowered with grief for her even as his lips pinched hard with anger. " _Ir abelas, asamalin._ I wish there was something I could do…"

She shook her head. "No," she croaked, swiping at the tears, feeling her cheeks burning. "Don't you dare apologize. I did this to myself. You've been nothing but supportive."

"I liked Revas," Tal said, his eyes sad as he looked away into the fire. "Maybe because he did remind me of _lenalin._ But…" He frowned, shaking his head. "I can't shake off the feeling that maybe he'll come back. For good." Glancing back to her, he said, "I watched him in the Circle and I think he really loved you. Whatever took him away…"

"It doesn't matter," Rosa growled, clenching her jaw as she sniffed. "I can't sit here and expect he'll come back. I can't—I _won't_ let this define the rest of my life." Shivering, she blew out a breath as she noticed the tea had ceased steaming.

Following her line of sight, Tal fidgeted. "What if tonight he's in the Fade?" he asked, challenging her. "What if you have to tell him—"

"I don't have to tell him anything," Rosa grumbled, still glaring at the tea. "This is _my_ burden. It doesn't affect him at all." Scrubbing her face with her free hand not holding the pelt closed against the chill, Rosa sighed. "Keeper Nola said Lavellan clan to the west is in desperate need of a First. They haven't had one for over a decade. There's a child who may become Second, but they need someone like me. I could make a life with them and still visit you sometimes."

She lifted her head and smiled, despite feeling tears building in her eyes again. "But if I show up carrying some _flat-ear's_ child and tell them I've just escaped the Hasmal Circle…"

Tal nodded, understanding. "They could refuse you." His expression was somber and grim.

"If I was their Keeper I'd doubt me too," Rosa muttered, shaking her head. "She doesn't know me. I could've been fucking a Templar and the baby won't be an elf at all. Or if she does believe me…" Her shoulders fell with defeat. "The father was a mage. I'm a mage. The clan would have too many gifted children. I'd be the outsider and so I'd probably be the one to have to give up the child." She sniffled again as more tears streaked down her cheeks. "It's the same problem here, too. Anywhere I go, the baby is the problem."

Sitting back, Tal leaned against the aravel behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Naseral will take you back, even with the baby."

"And they're halfway across the world," Rosa reminded him sharply. "And it means leaving you. You're the only family I have now. I won't leave you."

Tal motioned at her. "You're wrong. The little one is more your family than I am now."

Rosa gnashed her teeth. "Don't make this harder than it is, _isamalin._ "

"Hey," Tal snapped, frowning. "It's my niece or nephew. I have a right to question this. It's _my_ blood too."

"Are you going to raise it?" Rosa retorted heatedly. "Are you or your clan going to feed and provide for it?" She cut herself off, choking on the words.

Tal's brow furrowed and he looked away, his head and shoulders bowing with defeat.

Swallowing to wet her aching throat, Rosa said, "You won't have to raise it, love it, only to lose it when the Keeper declares we have to give it away because there are too many mages. I won't condemn any child of mine to a Circle."

"It might not be a mage," Tal murmured, shooting her a pleading look. "And even if it was, it'll be passed to another clan, not a Circle. Please, _asamalin,_ just give it a chance."

"This isn't something I can _give a chance,_ " Rosa said, her voice raspy with emotion. "I can't exactly _undo_ it if I wait too long."

"Then…" Tal shook his head in something halfway between despair and desperation. "Just give it a little time. Revas could come back. _Lenalin_ did, didn't he? He found your mother in the dreaming, but she never told him about you until years later. If she had…"

"If she had you wouldn't have been conceived," Rosa told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But Revas hasn't contacted me. Not once. I've sensed him in the Fade. I've _felt_ him _._ But I can't pull him to me."

Tal was silent, somber for a moment. "He's as strong as _lenalin_ then." A weaker Dreamer wouldn't be able to resist Rosa's call, at least not for long by any method that she or Tal knew. The only sleeper who'd been able to evade Rosa was Eolas. Rosa's mother, Halesta, a weak Dreamer, wouldn't be able to resist when Rosa drew the other woman to her.

"At least," Rosa replied, ominous as she recalled the heavy press of Solas in the Fade. It'd been less than Eolas when she'd last shared a dream with him, but something about Solas had felt larger, looming and magnificent. It was as if he cast a shadow greater than himself. "Now do you see?" she asked Tal. "It'll be a mage and there's just no room…"

"And what if Lavellan clan's Keeper says to the Void with the Templars and the Chantry? What if you drink that and then march out of here for that clan and learn they'd have been happy to have four mages?" He pointed to the west, indicating Wycome where clan Lavellan was encamped a few days travel away. "Isn't their Keeper at least middle aged? How many years can she have left?"

Rosa stared at him, grimacing at the queasiness still roiling her stomach acids as she considered his words. What if Tal was right? What if she learned she could have kept the child? Or what if Solas did finally contact her or return? Despite what she'd said to Tal earlier, she knew such a secret would gnaw on her, eat away at her conscience.

She'd been reckless with passion and love, just as her mother had been, except that Halesta had made a choice to remove her contraceptive charm. Rosa's had been taken from her by force. The little seedling inside her had been unplanned but Rosa hadn't tried to caution Solas and he hadn't apparently considered this issue. Apparently, whatever the rules among the ancients, the men at least hadn't worried about unplanned pregnancy.

 _What would Rogathe say?_ She wondered and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting through the pain that constricted her chest and the dread that made her blood run cold. She already knew the answer to that question. She could almost hear the spirit's voice inside her mind, scolding her. _You are afraid,_ da'len. _You have erred and hope to spare yourself more pain, but the brave do not take such cowardly paths. You must embrace the fear and weather it._

She thought of her mother, of her father, of Tal sitting nearby, her maternal grandparents who'd died when she was a teen, and then the grandfather she'd never met—Dirthamen. She could feel the lines of her vallaslin aching like old scars. Solas' voice echoed in her mind as he asked her how she could revere the Creators even knowing they were false gods. And she remembered her answer, particularly about Dirthamen. She had always valued devotion to family above all else. She owed it to herself to be sure before she acted or else she'd be a hypocrite, casting aside her own ideals when they were inconvenient or traumatic.

Drawing in a deep breath, Rosa reached out for the pot of tea, her fingers wrapping around the bone handle, skin dark against the pale surface. Tal watched her, brow knit and silent except for his almost audible swallow of tension. Twisting at the waist, Rosa moved the pot away from the fire and held it out over the small patch of crusty snow around the back of Tal's aravel. Her brother's lips parted with surprise as she poured out the contents onto the snow, making it hiss and sending up a cloud of steam.

Tal grinned. "What made you change your mind?"

"I haven't," she admitted, slowly returning the pot to the edge of the fire. "Not exactly, anyway. I just decided to give it some more time. I…" She shook her head, blinking as more tears flooded her eyes. "It's so new and I'm afraid, but…" She looked up at him, managing a wavering smile. "I need to be sure. I'll go to clan Lavellan and meet with their Keeper first. I'll leave the question to her, if she wants me as First."

"And if not?" Tal pressed, eyebrows arched.

"Then I'll find another clan. And if none of them will take me _and_ the child, then I'll know I have no choice."

Tal nodded, smiling his approval and love. "It'll all work out, _asamalin._ I know it will."

Rosa nodded, mute and a little numb as she stared at the fire. "One way or another," she muttered. "It will."

* * *

**Inquisition Preview**

And then, suddenly, Solas' entire world collapsed with horror as he saw a familiar young elf running toward them. The young elf was tall and lean, with a long face that was distinctly Elvhen, reminding Solas immediately of Mythal's sons and grandsons. He had shaggy black hair, slightly curly, and brown eyes. It was Tal. _Talassan._

 _No,_ Solas thought, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. _No, no, no…_

* * *

A/N And that's how the tale ends! *cue the evil laughter.* 

I will post up the next stories in this slight-AU tale. One where Rosa becomes Inquisitor. The other, where Tal does. 

 


End file.
